The Dragon Keeper
by slytherinish
Summary: "You must have a death wish, Potter.  Dark Lords and now dragons.  Christ…" COMPLETED.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** The Dragon Keeper

**Disclaimer: **Not mine, no matter how determined I am to give Draco a happily ever after. ;P

**Pairings**: Harry/Draco, Angelina/Lee, Angelina/George

**Warnings**: EWE, Sexual Content, Language

**AN: **This will be around ten chapters when it's finished. I have the first three written and will be updating every three days until those are posted, and then once a week after that. Hope you enjoy and please leave a review if you have time.

xxx

"I'd sooner have a pygmy puff for a partner than Malfoy."

So much for the post-war ceasefire, I think. We're sitting in Charlie Weasley's makeshift office, which is little more than a glorified tent, and have been for the past half an hour. It took Weasley about ten seconds to inform both of us that Potter's to mentor me in the field for the next month. The rest of the time has been spent with him passively listening to Potter's complaints while I sit idly by, freezing my pureblooded balls off. Romania seems to have few redeeming qualities. The weather is certainly not among them.

Oddly, I don't care all that much that I'm to trail after Potter for the next thirty-one days. When the alternative is rotting in Azkaban with one's father, you don't really complain all that much about what you're to do instead. I'm here because I opted for the program that all the underaged Death Eater kids were offered. It was this or a prison sentence.

Charlie holds up one large, freckled hand and effectively stops the dark-haired wizard sitting next to me mid-sentence. It must be some kind of rush to have that kind of power over Harry Potter these days. "Unfortunately, we don't have any pygmy puffs on staff, Harry. Malfoy will just have to do." Potter glowers at the redhead while I sit serenely at his side, quite at my ease.

"If this is about Gin-"

Charlie cuts him off again. "It isn't." Everyone who can read knows about The Chosen One's split with the Weaslette in _The Prophet _and those who can't has been told about it. I'm told the issue containing the story is one of the best selling issues to date, second only to the one detailing his victory against Voldemort. "Malfoy needs a mentor for his re-assimilation, and you're the one he's been assigned. Shacklebolt himself recommended it."

Potter studies him quietly for a moment, having apparently exhausted himself somewhere near the end of the fit he's just finished having. "Why would Kingsley do that?"

"Post-war unity, I would imagine."

Potter's expression turns hard. "I fought that war and I won that war, Weasley. I sacrificed the first seventeen years of my life for that war, the consequences of which I am certain I'll never truly comprehend." He sighs tiredly and I glance inscrutably at the man who's never known how to be anything other than a hero. He has more of a right to be tired than any of us, and yet, I don't feel sorry for him. I have trouble feeling much of anything for anyone these days. "I came here to forget the war."

Charlie gives him a measured look. "Then perhaps that's why this is a good idea. Christ, Harry… I hope you never forget the war. I hope none of us do. Think about Fred for godsake…"

This kind of raw emotion embarrasses me, and I keep my eyes fixed on a spot on his makeshift desk, which is made out of overturned wooden crates and bits of twine to bind them together. Potter seems equally as embarrassed, though not for the same reason as me. "Sorry, Charlie, I've just feeling a bit…" he rubs the back of his neck, his unruly hair curling over his fingers as he searches for the right, "_frayed_." He glances sideways at me as though just remembering that I was there.

Charlie's expression softens considerably, or as much as it can for such a rough outdoorsman with the famed Weasley temperament. "Malfoy, I assume you're agreeable to these conditions, given the alternative."

I snort wryly. "Your deductive reasoning is astounding Weasley." I can't help it. My first language is sarcasm with a close following of English and besides, stupid questions deserve stupid answers. Charlie, to his credit, doesn't rise to my barb and instead pays me a tired, disparaging look before dismissing the both of us.

We wander out into the sunlight and let an awkward silence fall between us, neither of us willing to speak first. It's not that I want to put off those first few words but that I want to put off whatever comes after that, because it's sure to put me off my afternoon tea. Potter's always had that effect on me. After a run-in with him, I always seem to lose my appetite, though I'd never grant him the pleasure of knowing it.

"Welcome to the dragon reservation, Malfoy," he says dryly. I realize that I've never felt _less_ welcome anywhere in my whole entire life, but that's par for the course after my family's reputation crumbled after the Dark Lord's death. I have the man at my side to thank for that, obviously.

I look around for the first time since I'd arrived, having been dragged directly into Weasley's tent as soon as I'd Portkeyed here. On a hill nearby, a Norwegian Ridgeback is sunning itself and a little farther than that, I can spot a Welsh Green moving between the trees, causing their branches to shake overhead. It's nice enough, I suppose, if one discounts the fact that forest fires are inevitable and there is a high risk that you'll be roasted alive by the day's end. I suppose it says something for how desperate I am to stay out of Azkaban.

"You must have a death wish, Potter. Dark Lords and dragons. Christ…" The dark-haired man says nothing for a few moments, and I start to wonder how it'll look on my record if we attack each other on my first day on the reservation. No matter who throws the first punch, Potter will get off scot-free every time, while I would be condemned even if all I did was roll up in a ball on the ground like a cockroach and take the beating. Honestly, it feels like that's all I've been doing for the past few years anyway.

"Wouldn't you?" He laughs hollowly and shrugs, glancing my way. "I'm not afraid of death, Malfoy. Not like you." The jab does sting a little. I'm certain I'll never forgive myself for my cowardice in those last couple of years before the Dark Lord's death. I'm not sure that I want to even try, given that I've taken the cowardly way out yet again and am here rather than rotting in the cell next to my father's. "Come on."

I follow him along the muddy path between two rows of tents, his eyes swinging back and forth between them trying to find what will be my home for the next month. When his gaze finally lands on the right one, he takes a sharp turn and I nearly stumble when my own momentum is suddenly halted in my attempt to stay a few feet behind him. He pulls back the flap and gestures me in. As I pass, I'm pathetically aware of how slight my frame is in comparison, in spite of the fact that I'm a few inches taller than he is.

"We're to be bunkmates," he says, a little unnecessarily in case I hadn't noticed that one side of the tent is obviously occupied with his things while the other contains only a bare cot and an empty pitcher and basin on an overturned wooden crate, along with a trunk of what belongings I was permitted to bring with me. He runs a hand over his jaw with the sandpapery sound of stubble against skin, and I realize that he's grown up in appearance when I wasn't paying attention. Gone is the scrawny bespectacled boy I'd bullied as a first year. Even our roles have been reversed, it seems.

He catches me staring and his expression hardens again. "I would suggest you get out and take a look around while there's still light." He turns away from me dismissively, though one last comment floats over his shoulder toward me. "And go to sleep early. We'll be up before the sun."

I don't much like the idea of Harry Potter telling me what to do, but it seems that's what I've signed up for. Of course, I've had plenty of practice with being obedient to wizards more powerful than I, so I turn on my heels and head back outdoors.

Uncertain of where to go, I head away from the campsite toward the forest and wonder if it's wise to wander around the reservation alone. I wouldn't be surprised if this is Potter's attempt to do me in on my first day here.

At first everything seems too quiet but then I hear a rustling in the bushes a short distance away, on the very edge of the trees. I still. It's obviously small, whatever it is, but that doesn't mean it's any less dangerous than an Ukrainian Ironbelly. It strikes me suddenly that it'd be far more humiliating to be killed by a baby dragon than a fully grown one. Most people would undoubtedly think it a fitting end for a Malfoy.

A baby Antipodean Opaleye topples out of the bushes on unsteady legs. It's tiny… no bigger than my mum's Persian cat, though hopefully it's a bit less temperamental. I still bear scratch marks on my legs from that monster. The Opaleye studies me with glittering eyes and moves unsteadily closer. She's beautiful, I suppose... in the same way poisonous snakes can be. Her scales are iridescent and pearly, and seem to sparkle in the late afternoon sun.

Against my better judgment, I kneel down in front of the little creature as it hobbles toward me and when it's near enough, I brush the back of my fingers over its smooth scales. " 'Lo beautiful." She hiccups, sending her head over arse sprawled across the ground. I scoop her up gingerly, certain that this goes against some kind of reservation protocol and that her mother is soon to burst through the trees to tell me off for my impudence.

Her paper thin wings flap uselessly, brushing against my arm. It's a strange feeling to hold something alive in my hands, to feel as though my very existence isn't destruction.

And for the first time, I think I might be okay here.

A few minutes later, I let her go and she wanders back to the trees, glancing over at me with her bright eyes before disappearing into the foliage.

When I stand and turn back to camp, Potter's standing on the hill with his arms folded. Watching me. As our eyes meet, he doesn't bother turning away or pretending as though his attention hadn't been fixed on me for who knows how long. This is what we've been doing for the past seven years anyway. Watching each other. Two sides of the same coin.

He doesn't acknowledge me at all. Instead, he merely turns around to head back to our tent without so much as a nod or a wave.

xxx

The next morning comes far more quickly than I am accustomed, having grown used to sleeping until the sun was high in the sky since I left Hogwarts. Without anything to do, waking up early seems a bit pointless. Having been roused when the sun's still nothing more than a pink tinge in the sky makes me cranky and irritable, though that might be more to do with the fact that I've been denied my morning wank than anything else. Potter had woken me up ten minutes before breakfast, the bastard, and I'd sat through the meal, groggily shoving bits of toast into my dry mouth.

Not really the kind of breakfast I'm used to.

"… and then we make sure they're being kept at the proper temperature." Potter's just finished an extremely boring monologue which I suspect he's kept as dry as possible for my benefit. We're currently underground in a room that is kept at an insanely high temperature with a large fireplace at one end containing three Hungarian Horntail eggs. The walk down was fairly cool, but stepping into the room was like being hit head on with a wall of heat. It had been staggering to say the least.

"Their mother-"

"Is dead," Potter finishes for me without flinching, though his gaze softens a little as he studies the smooth, metallic-looking dragon eggs. His face is covered in a thin sheen of perspiration as is mine, I suspect. How horrifying.

A silence hangs between us again, waiting to be broken. "We expect them to hatch in a week or two. They're progressing nicely. When they're born, we'll have to see how they take to our food." His voice is clinical and flat. Thus far, I've not seen a sign of the old sentimental Potter from school, who refused to listen to anyone. Who was such a bleeding heart that I'm surprised he hadn't taken to carrying a mop with him everywhere just to clean up the scarlet mess he left behind.

He seems to be well and truly gone.

I don't mind. He was always intolerable when he was being righteous about something. If the stories are true, that's how he got the scar on the back of his hand from that bitch, Umbridge.

And that's how I got the scars on my chest as well.

"We've been testing some exploratory magic to ease the process and we think they'll take to it well."

"You've experience with exploratory magic," I say, unable to stop myself. He freezes and a muscle jumps in his jaw as he clenches his mouth closed. I think for a moment that he really is going to hit me, but he doesn't. "Sectumsempra, wasn't it," I add, in case it hadn't been clear enough what I'd been referring to. I think for a moment that perhaps it's _me_ who has the death wish as I watch his fists clench closed.

"I was young," he says finally.

"It was two years ago."

He gives me an even look that sends a cold chill down my spine in spite of the heat of the room. "We've both had to grow up since then." And he's right, of course. Both of us have been made to do terrible, unspeakable thing since then on behalf of those who supposedly loved us. Yet, here we both stand, and he's the Savior of the wizarding world, and I'm the boy who made all the wrong choices.

Life is very strange, but I've learned to stop looking too far into it. Better men than I have wasted away trying to understand it.

He glances at me again. "You cold or what?" He's eyeing my long sleeved cotton shirt with a inquisitively raised eyebrow, and to be honest, I don't blame him. Not that it means he deserves a proper answer, but I can't think of one that'll get me off the hook. Besides, this is the first time he's asked me anything, and it's caught me off guard. My ancestors are probably rolling over in their velvet-lined caskets.

My hand runs instinctively over the Dark Mark on my forearm and he laughs. "No one gives a damn about tattoos here, Malfoy."

"And you?" He gives me an even look.

"No one gives a damn," he repeats, biting off each syllable as though I'm hard of hearing. I scowl at his retreating form as he makes his way back above ground, though I've no choice but to follow. It's either that or sit quietly in this underground furnace and literally let my blood boil.

When we hit cooler air, he strides off across the reservation without so much as a glance in my direction. I don't even think that he's trying to be rude. It seems as though it doesn't even occur to him to be rude, which almost makes it worse. At least while we were in school, I was worth shooting a good insult at when we passed in the corridors. Granted, I usually deserved it.

But I don't deserve it any less _now_, given that it's my fault his mentor's dead. Hell, it's my fault that Snape's dead and probably a lot of other people too. The thought makes me feel a bit ill, though not for the reasons one might think. Death just makes me a little queasy. And right now, so does Potter.

I trail after him, feeling impossibly small in his shadow.

xxx

"He's a waste of space, Ron. That's all."

Potter's inside our tent firecalling Weasley while I sit perched on an overturned wooden crate, of which the reservation seems to have in abundance. I bet my first guess as to who he's referring to is the right one.

I take a drag off of my cigarette. I had to roll it myself, so it's a bit lopsided and crooked. Frankly, I don't need a mirror to know that it looks ridiculous dangling out of my mouth, but it's better than nothing. My mother sent some tobacco from her own stash with me, which means it's at least the best money can by, even if I can't smoke it properly. A few minutes later, and a few more derisive comments made about yours truly, Potter throws the flap to our tent open and blinks at me.

"Yes," I say dryly. "I'm still here."

He throws the flap closed a little harder than necessary and sits on the crate next to me. I'm shocked into stillness, and he takes that opportunity to take my wretched cigarette from my fingers. "Didn't know you smoked."

"There's a lot you don't know about me, Potter."

His lips twitch at that and he takes a drag off of my own cigarette, blowing the grey smoke high above our heads. He closes his eyes for a second and when they open, they're fixed on me. "I didn't mean for you to hear that."

I pause for a moment. There are a million and one things I could think of to say to him, each more sarcastic than the last. Instead I settle for something simple… though god knows the truth is rarely that. "You weren't wrong." He looks down for a moment, his thumb and forefinger worrying my cigarette between them before he hands it back to me.

"Having you here is not easy. You remind me of… a great many things that I'd rather forget."

"I hadn't realized," I say dryly. I've stopped expecting him to react and predictably enough, he doesn't. "It's not like you to apologize to me."

"I didn't." He glances at me sharply. He stands without further comment and heads toward Charlie's tent at the far end of the camp. I've the desire to make a face at him while his back is turned, which makes me wonder just how much I've really grown up. At the same time, it strikes me that this is the first actual conversation that we've had since I arrived.

I can't understand why I care.


	2. Chapter 2

_Thank you for your reviews so far! :)_

xxx

We don't have time for another true conversation for a while, because I'm roused out of bed the next morning with the shout of 'Fire!'

Honestly, there's nothing more comical than dozens of men running around in whatever they slept in (most of them seem to favor at least their boxers, thank Merlin) with frantic, open-mouthed expressions of horror on their faces. I'm nothing more than a high-functioning zombie when I'm pulled out of bed earlier than expected, so I haven't quite mustered the energy to panic just yet.

In fact, it's all I can do just to pull on my own clothes and robes, having at the very least the clarity of mind to realize that running around starkers is probably not ideal in the event of a fire.

I had previously thought that they'd be prepared in an event like this one, and I do assume that they have some kind of protocol put in place for the occasional inevitable forest fire. It takes a while, but after five minutes of careening mindlessly into one another, Potter's out of the tent with his wand – what used to be _my _wand, actually – pointed in the air. A jet of red sparks shoots out of the end of it, accompanied by a loud bang, and the masses are shocked into silence.

"You know what to do. Act like it," he instructs them gruffly, without raising his voice in the slightest.

He jerks his head as an indication for me to follow and we lead a quick procession to the edge of the forest. The air is thick with smoke and the sound of branches cracking and trees groaning under their own weight.

Immediately, the dragon keepers all raise their wands and begin aguamenti-ing the shit out of the fire. It's clear they've trained for this. Their aim is impressive, as is the continuous flow of water they're able to keep up, while I'm left standing next to Potter like an inconvenient extra limb he's sprouted. I'd been given a Ministry-issue wand after the war which is only capable of the simplest defense spells and charms.

In short, that means that I am, as Potter so eloquently put it, _a waste of space_.

I edge away from Potter until I'm on the outskirts of the crowd, where no one will pay me any attention. It's funny how, for the first seventeen years of my life I was such an attention-seeking little shit, and now, I want nothing more than to be invisible. I know they'll talk about me. That doesn't bother me. It's the _looks_ on their faces as they do that does, as though every fiber of their being loathes me in that moment. It's a wonder I haven't been incinerated on the spot under their gazes, but I take solace in knowing that I'll one day die in the same manner that they all will. _Alone_.

I've no time to be maudlin at the moment though, because within the flames, I spot my little friend from two days before. The Antipodean Opaleye is quite alone and standing on uncertain legs, its pearly eyes wide and unblinking in panic.

And then I do something very, _very_ stupid… even for me.

I run into the flames, because I'll be _damned_ if the only creature that hasn't looked at me with contempt since I've been here is going to die on me.

"Malfoy!" I hear Potter's voice behind me, and I just know that heroic little bastard is going to chase in after me. He never could pass up a chance to squeeze his way into the spotlight… not that the spotlight is what I'm after. I'll probably get an infraction for not following orders, I'm certain.

I'm diving through dry brush with twigs snapping underfoot and branches whipping me in the face every five seconds. It's not the most pleasant experience I've ever had, but there are worse reasons to put oneself through such an ordeal than rescuing a baby dragon, I suppose. Serving a madman to his grave would be one such example, in fact.

When I reach her, she's curled herself under one of her wings, trembling like a leaf and snarling at the flames. Only then does it occur to me that I'm currently in the midst of four walls of fire. I think it's par for the course that I've gotten myself into a mess that I can't get back out of.

Regardless of my impending doom, I scoop the Opaleye up, who spreads her wings over my chest in what I can only assume is a small effort at protecting me. I'm touched, truly, even if I'm about to be charred to bits like a pig on a spit.

My vision's slipping already and my breath is coming in short little gasps, making me look like a beached goldfish, I'm certain. Smoke is everywhere, and I'm bent over the tiny dragon, coughing into my shoulder when I feel hands on my arms.

Ah yes… Potter. I suppose he thinks that after saving me so many times, letting me die now would probably be a little counterproductive.

I've no idea what brilliant escape tactic he pulls next however, because my vision soon slips into darkness.

I welcome it.

xxx

When I wake up, I'm flat on my back with one of the field nurses looming over me with a tight, disapproving look on her face. "Bugger off," I inform her without hesitation, and to my surprise, she does. I suspect it might have something to do with the person sitting on the chair next to my bed.

"You're an idiot."

I instinctively flex my toes and my fingers, just to make sure they haven't taken a chunk out of me while I was out. Everything seems to be accounted for, and a breath a quiet sigh of relief, because for a moment, the idea of being less than whole had me panicking for a moment.

Although I suppose I haven't been whole for quite some time.

"Pot, kettle," I say tiredly. "You chased in after me." I look over at the messy-haired savior sitting hunched over with his elbows pressed into his knees. He clicks his tongue and looks to be on the verge of saying something that would undoubtedly make me feel incredibly sheepish and pathetic. Instead, he goes quiet again and runs both of his hands through his untidy hair, making it stand comically on end.

His lips twitch finally, and I wonder what's so damn amusing. "You weren't standing next to me when I looked. And we've always kept one eye on each other, haven't we." I'm stunned for a moment, and in my defense, it _is_ a bit much to take in after you've just regained consciousness after a near-death experience. "If anything's going to kill you Malfoy, it'll be me." _And_ moment over. I'm a bit relieved, to be honest.

"That's comforting," I croak, still trying to regain control of my tongue, which is currently as dry as sandpaper… not to mention my throat feels like it's on fire.

He looks up at me and I realize he's got dark shadows under his eyes, which makes me wonder how long he's been sitting in that chair and more importantly, how long I've been asleep. "How long was I out?"

"Fire was yesterday morning. It's lunchtime now." He yawns, confirming my own thoughts. That stupid sod had slept in that chair. "You had severe smoke inhalation and burns on your arms and back from fallen branches." One glance over him from head to toes assures me that he suffered nothing similar, which is just so predictable really. He's the most powerful wizard in the world. A forest fire's not going to be able to touch him.

I sniff affectedly, trying to pretend like I don't really care. "And the dragon?"

He runs his thumb along his bottom lip with a small grin on his face. It's the first one I've seen since I've been here, and I think it's to be expected that it's at my expense. "She's fine," he laughs hollowly, "as she's a dragon."

I groan and cradle my head in my knees, because it's suddenly so _obvious_. The little bugger can _breath_ fire, so why on earth did I think that it could hurt her? Potter gives another short laugh before a silence falls between us. I think I'll let this one stretch on into eternity, thank you very much, before he breaks it himself.

"It was rather brave." Something in his voice makes me snap my head up. His eyes are lowered but his expression looks sincere, and I think that he might actually _mean_ it.

"Yes well, I don't intend to make a habit of it."

"God forbid." He sits upright and stretches, his shoulders and arms flexing in a way that catches me off guard. My gaze catches on a thin patch of skin that appears when his shirt rides up. It's a nice reminder that I'm still bent if nothing else. I've not had one since I've arrived at this camp, as sweaty middle-aged men are not really my cup of tea. Of course, Potter certainly isn't either.

When I look back up at his face, he's studying mine curiously. I quickly become fascinated with my own hands.

"You shouldn't have run in after me, when it's my fault I was thick enough to get myself into that mess to begin with." I'd been thinking that he's a different Potter now and had even entertained the notion that he was done saving people… that he was over his strange hero complex. It seems, given my current situation, that I was wrong.

He snorts. "It isn't like you to apologize."

I look back at him with a calm Malfoy smirk on my lips, and suddenly, I feel more like myself than I have since the end of the war. "I didn't."

xxx

By the time night rolls around, I've convinced the nurses to let me sleep on my own cot, thank you very much, even if it's hardly any more comfortable than the ones in the sick tent. I wander into our humble abode and stumble over the tent flap on my way in. Potter's hand catches me on the elbow. "Steady," he murmurs. I ignore him and shuffle to my own side of the tent where I promptly fall onto my mattress and pull the covers over my head.

I can feel Potter watching me for a second before he blows out the lamp and slides into his own bed.

And for the first time in a long time, I dream.

_I'm held immobile a foot above the ground, my face contorted in a silent scream as a hooded figure circles around my body. His wand flicks toward me, and it feels as though all of my bones are breaking. As though my veins are on fire. I want the blessed release of death, and my torturer laughs warmly, as though my pain amuses him. _

"_Right now, you are wishing for an end to this pain. But Draco…" a finger trails lightly along my cheek, "you have disappointed me. And I do not reward disappointment with an easy death." He stops in front of me, his red eyes reassuring, as though he is doing me a great favor. _

"_When I release you, I want you to thank me for our exercise today." I drop to the ground in a crumpled heap onto my shoulder, popping it out of its socket. _

_I scream._

I wake up to strong hands on my arms, holding my flailing limbs down as I attempt to claw my way out of my dream. When I have my nightmares, I always seem to entertain the thought that they're real and my waking life is fake. It unsettles me. "Malfoy…"

I still and Potter's hands finally let go. I'm soaking wet and shaking but I get to my feet anyway, with Potter reaching toward me uncertainly, and somehow, I find some solace in the fact that I seem to have unnerved him. "I just need to…" Without bothering to finish my sentence, I stagger out into the cool night air and down the path between the two rows of canvas tents. I'm moving quickly, as though I think I can outrun my own demons.

When I reach the end of our measly little camp, a soft keening noises draws me closer to the pen where they keep the orphaned dragons with the intent of re-assimilating them into their herd when they're old enough to care for themselves. It's huge, extending too far for me to see the other side of the fence, but they're still kept from flying out of it with a few harmless wards. My Opaleye is waiting for me near the fence, and I sit cross legged in front of her.

It must be early morning judging by the pink tint already seeping across the sky like watercolor paint. Of course, I feel like I've not slept at all, but I don't have a clearance from the nurses to go back to work yet anyway. "You nearly got me killed, you horrible little reptile." She flaps her little wings at me as though reminding me that they're the reason why I've no burns on my chest or face.

I snort, though I note I'm still shaking from my earlier nightmare, which is more than a little humiliating given who stood witness to it. Of course, Potter's seen me in more than his fair share of embarrassing situations so I suppose he can just tally it up with the rest. Nevertheless, I feel impossibly small even next to my diminutive friend and I close my eyes, willing myself to forget the dreams and forget that at one time, they were my reality.

"You need a name," I murmur. "Maya… I think it suits you. What do you reckon?" I take her soft keening sound and the small hiccup of flame that escapes her as an agreement.

The sound of footsteps approaching annoys me… I've the sense that it's Potter come to the rescue again but when I look up, I realize I'm nowhere close. Angelina Johnson is looking down at me, and I've no idea what to do or say as I've just been caught talking to a dragon by someone I've never spoken to in my life. Unless you count calling her a cunt on the Quidditch Pitch back in school, which I don't. It remains to be seen if _she_ does.

"Draco Malfoy. There were rumors that you were dead."

"There usually are," I quip dryly. "Wishful thinking, I suppose." She smiles wryly before sitting down next to me though not before her gaze flickers over the black scar on my forearm, exposed to the cold night air.

"I'd assumed they'd put you on tea cart duty at the Ministry," she comments dryly. I'm not impressed.

"I think they were rather hoping the dragons would do me in since the law won't let them do it themselves. At the rate I'm going, they _will_… if Potter doesn't do it first." I snort derisively, clearly displeased with current events though to be fair, my outlook on life has always been much the same. Everything could always be better and thus, everything is deserving of my spite.

I bet my friends still in England miss my near constant contempt like a heart attack.

"What _are_ you doing here, anyway?" I'd certainly not expected to see any old classmates here, aside from the Golden Boy.

"I've always been interested in dragons. Hagrid used to take a few of the older students up to see the Welsh Greens during the school year and after what happened to Fred…" she doesn't flinch at his name, and I'm surprised. "Do what you love and fuck everything else." She eyes the dragon in front of us, whose eyelids are drooping… she keeps teetering off balance as she drifts off and waking up when she starts to lose her footing. "This one's yours then. I wondered which you'd pick."

I blink at her. "Excuse me?"

She shrugs. "We've our favorites, all of us. Mine's a Chinese Fireball. Harry's is a Norwegian Ridgeback by the name of Norberta." She snorts. "Says they go way back."

I think it'd be worth seeing Harry with his dragon, if only to hear him call her by name.

There's a long moment of stillness between us as we watch Maya drift in and out of sleep, while I wonder why I'm not in bed doing the same. I glance back toward our tent – there's no lamplight glowing from within which means Potter must've fallen back to sleep so he could gorge himself on some more dreams in which he saves the world and vanquishes dark lords. I wish I had the luck to have a reality like that, if only so I could get my beauty sleep at night. He's obviously unconcerned with that, if his usual untidy appearance is any indication.

Johnson catches me looking and grins mildly. "Lee's here too. Lee Jordan."

I curse under my breath. "Fucking Gryffindors… I'm surrounded, aren't I?"

"Quite," she agrees cheerfully. Her dark skin looks nearly as iridescent in the moonlight as Maya's scales do, and I can sort of understand what Weasley might have seen in her… and what Jordan still does, if his blatant adoration during our schooldays has held out.

I sniff quietly. The healing burns on my back are stretched tight in this position, and it's uncomfortable to say the least. I've never been a good sport about being injured, and I'm sure everyone is aware if they remember the trial I put that half-troll Hagrid through in my third year. "You've not hexed me yet," I observe dryly, though truthfully, I am rather shocked.

"I intended to," she says honestly, "when I heard you were coming here."

"I'm certain Weasley would be disappointed his Gryffindor girlfriend's not doing something terribly thick on his behalf." The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them, though I'm not sure I would have had I thought about it first.

She looks at me sharply. "Fuck you. Don't you dare talk to me about Fred."

"Why not? He always did seem to like the attention." I rub the Dark Mark burned into my skin absentmindedly, and she catches the gesture before even I do. My fingers stop over the skull's vacant, burnt black eyes. For a moment, I think she really _is_ going to hex me now, and I even think I see her fingers twitching toward her wand. To be honest, I sort of wish someone would just do it.

Instead, she laughs softly under breath and pulls her long black hair over her shoulder, twisting it into a makeshift tail. "You've always been such a twat, Malfoy."

I grin without skipping a beat. "I do enjoy a thick cock on occasion, yes."

Johnson seems unperturbed by my crass retort, which annoys me to no end, though it does seem to successfully put an end to the dead boyfriend subject, which I suspect is a relief for both of us. She laughs suddenly. "We'd always suspected. We all said that if you looked for the snitch as much as you looked for Harry, you might actually win a few games."

"_Potter?_" I sputter. Sadly, it's not the first time I've heard such speculations… even my friends have joined in on them once or twice, making sly, underhanded comments that they think I'll miss but never do. Sometimes I don't blame them. I swear he got into my bloodstream when I turned eleven and never really left, though that's not to say I'm about to jump into bed with him, even if he happened to be game. In our universe, emotional baggage is spelled P-O-T-T-E-R.

"He's quite fit these days. Bent as fuck, but…"

"Is he?" I ask weakly. She smiles. "In any case, you lot clearly had too much time on your hands if you were taking bets on my sexuality." I'm not entirely sure there was ever any question. I pity the poor bloke who thought, for whatever reason, that I liked tits and fanny. Of course, I'm not entirely focused on my own preferences, given that Potter's have just been revealed to me in a most uncouth manner that I'm certain he'd not appreciate. It's perfect. I'm not sure I can believe it however, given his apparent devotion toward the girl Weasley for as long as they were together… which admittedly wasn't long at all.

I am, in spite of myself, _intrigued_ by this strange notion that Harry Potter might be queer.

Johnson's thoughts seem to be elsewhere however, and I'm strangely disappointed, having hoped for a moment to unearth even more dark and preferably filthy secrets about The-Boy-Who-Lived-Twice. There's a long pause, and I wonder if I even spoke at all before she finally answers. "We didn't have enough time. We all had to grow up too fast."

I'm sobered immediately, as well as disappointed that my revelation about my current bunkmate has been interrupted by this showing of Gryffindor emotion. "Please spare me your Gryffindor sentiments. I can't stomach it."

She snorts and gets to her feet, though I think it's more to do with the fact that the other dragon keepers are already stumbling out of their tents to start the day than anything I've said. "Well I'd say this was a successful conversation, Malfoy, as you still have your balls."

"Quite," I say agreeably, though given a few more minutes, I'm certain I could change her opinion.

She pauses as she backs away, a contemplative – or perhaps _mischievous_ – look on her face. "Some of us are going into Sighisoara tonight for a drink or two. Come with."

I blink at her. "Um," is my intelligent response.

"Harry'll be there," she says, as though this is a point in her favor, and she walks away as though I've already agreed. I stare at her retreating form, suddenly well-aware of one very important fact.

I'm well and truly fucked.


	3. Chapter 3

_Thank you for the reviews!_

xxx

I spend the entire day with the set of research books on dragons that Potter had the decency to tell me I could borrow, right before he left early in the morning without so much as glancing my way. Bastard. Regardless of who they belong to, they're really rather interesting, and I'm soon engrossed – it's no small feat given that the burns on my back have started to itch.

Apparently the reserve is funded by our government, in spite of the fact that most countries use its research and are able to protect their dragon species by sending them here. It's unsurpassable in the care it gives to the dragons here, as evident by our horrendously long working hours, and its success rate in assimilating young dragons back into their own herds. Worthy of some note is the fact that there are, on average, five forest fires on the reserve per month.

Splendid.

Aside from that, it seems to be a bit novel in the fact that the dragons here are capable of coexisting in the same place with only the occasional tiff to mark their territory, usually between the Horntails and the Ridgebacks, unsurprisingly. That's how it ought to be, I think. Show everyone where your boundaries are, then leave everyone the fuck alone and vice versa. I reckon that's where the Dark Lord and I didn't really see eye to eye.

In any case, things seem to work pretty well on the reserve and have for quite some time – centuries in fact. I break from reading only for lunch and dinner and that's only because I've the sense that if I don't, Potter might shove my beans and mash down my throat which, I'd imagine, is something to be avoided.

An hour or so after dinner, Potter comes into our tent to grab something, though he only makes it halfway across the floor before Johnson's voice from outside floats in after him. "Oh and grab Malfoy while you're in there too."

He freezes, his eyebrows scrunched together as he tried to understand. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

I look up at him coyly from my sitting position on the bed, and he folds his arms over his chest, clearly unimpressed. "You're going to Sighisoara?" I toss his book aside and run my fingers through my pale blond locks. I hadn't intended to go actually, but seeing him annoyed like this makes the idea entirely worth my while.

I shrug. He pulls on a sweater and grabs a filthy thing out of one of his crates that I believe the Muggles call a _wallet_. "Come on then." I stand and grab a pack of cigarettes before following him out. Angelina and Lee Jordan are standing outside, nattering on about the Hebridean Blacks and their mating season, which I'd no desire to know about in the least bit. "I'd thought you'd died," Jordan says, and I sigh.

"Despite everyone's best efforts… including my own… no." He snorts.

Angelina cocks her head to the side impatiently. "Are you both quite finished? We've the rest of the night to get acquainted." She glances knowingly at Potter and then back at me. I give her a irritated glare for her trouble.

To her credit, she ignores me and instead holds out the empty tin of beans in front of her. "Our chariot, ladies." It's a Portkey - I'm surprised. Sighisoara is within apparating distance, but I'd revoked my right to have a license when I took the Mark, apparently, along with all of the other basic human rights that most take for granted. In any case, I'm caught off guard that they have remembered this, not to mention taken it into account.

Or at least, Angelina has.

I feel a tell tale twisting sensation of being pulled through space and quickly lose all sense of direction, suddenly feeling a bit apprehensive about the night ahead of us all.

xxx

The city's rather cozy, I suppose, as is the piano bar we've ventured into. Already we're on our second round, and Angelina's just ordered us all shots of… something. I'm certain I don't want to know exactly what cheap liquor I'm expected to down tonight. "Sip or shoot?" she asks me, and I've a feeling she's taking the piss. I imagine she thinks I'll sit back with my legs crossed like a proper pureblood and sip it with my pinky out or some such. I flip two fingers her way, which earns me a laugh from her and a smirk from Potter.

I throw it back quickly and find that it burns on its way down, but not unpleasantly so. Firewhiskey is worse, but of course, it would be. There's nothing more common tasting than a shot of Ogden's.

Potter's watching me as I set the shot glass back down and my head buzzes with both the alcohol and the strange intensity of his stare. "Come on Malfoy." Angelina jerks her head toward the little dance floor in front of the stage and I grimace. I only took part in the various balls held by my parents because it was expected of me, so the idea I'd do any dancing willingly is a bit absurd.

She shoves another shot glass at me and I accept my fate. I down it quickly and follow her out until we find a suitably empty space on the floor. She moves gracefully for a Chaser, and a Dragon keeper for that matter, while my own slender form moves unenthusiastically to the beat afforded to us by the banging on the piano keys and the loud singing that they'd taken the liberty of calling _music_.

"He's watching you," she says over the music after a time.

"I've no idea what you're on about," I reply dully. I look unimpressed though inwardly, I'm intrigued by this strange interest she's taken in Potter and I. Outwardly, we appear to hate each other and I'm quite certain that, for him, he feels it all the way to his bone marrow. His spite toward me has never been half-assed. Even when he saves my life, I've the sense that he's only doing it out of an obligation toward his own morality, which I'm sure he begrudges to no end.

"Harry," she replies, perhaps a bit unnecessarily. I glance over at the pair we've left at the bar, and Potter's looking dutifully away in a manner that suggests he was doing exactly the opposite not a moment before. I smile grimly.

"I'd warrant that he takes some sort of strange joy in watching a Death Eater trying to dance." The idea of any of the Dark Lord's little band of fools enjoying a mindless dance or two is amusing. I'm certain that Severus is rolling over in his grave at the moment, if only because I'm fraternizing with a band of mismatched Gryffindors. "Jordan's watching too, and I've a feeling it's not because he enjoys seeing my arse in these jeans."

She laughs. "Lee's a sweetheart. Head over arse for me though, the idiot." She shakes her head derisively, and I wonder at her ability to scorn some poor bloke for adoring her. The witch seems to realize this however, and glances at me sharply, though her body doesn't miss a beat. Her waist is warm under my hands as she gives a measured look, and I can tell she's about to explain something that I really couldn't give a shit less about.

"I've no intention of getting involved with anyone so soon. Besides all that, George isn't well."

My shoulders sag a little because I know I'm going to take the bait. "Isn't well…?"

"Hit the bottle a bit too hard, hasn't he." Her gaze darkens considerably before she shakes off the gloom and pulls me a bit closer to her.

"Give him a good show, Malfoy." I shake my head at her audacity. _Unbelievable._

"You act as though he's said something to make you think he's interested," I reply dryly. I've no intention of giving _anyone _a 'show' tonight, particularly since I've always been accustomed to letting everyone else do the bizarre human equivalent of a mating dance while I sit back and take my pick.

She smiles. "No, he hasn't… but what Harry Potter doesn't say is usually just as telling as what he _does_ say." I consider this, and I suppose it's in some ways true. For all the attention-seeking, spotlight-whoring situations he's gotten himself into, he's always seemed to stumble into them accidentally, rather than sign up for them willingly, no matter how much I've always tried to convince myself otherwise. Thus, he's always seemed somewhat private, which has only been confirmed by the sheer number of interviews he's turned down since saving the world.

Ten minutes later, as we're making our way back to the bar to rejoin the rest of our sorry party, I find my path cut off by a dark-haired bloke who looks a little older than me but whose appearances have by no means suffered because of the extra years. He natters on something in Romanian and I blink at him coyly, already aware of where this is headed. "I don't speak Romanian."

"Ah," he nods and gestures between us, his eyes honest and sincere. "Dance?"

I look over to when Angelina makes it back to Jordan and Potter, and Potter leans in close to murmur something to her, pointing in my direction. Angelina looks up and over at me and shrugs, a small smile on her lips before murmuring something in reply. Potter stands suddenly and downs the rest of his lager, then makes his way out of the bar and into the cobblestone alleyway beyond.

I'm perplexed.

I give my Romanian a wry grin but murmur some excuse to leave him there. He's gorgeous of course, but I've no desire to get involved with anyone here unless it's for a quick shag in the loo, and judging by the heartfelt look on his face, that isn't what he had in mind. "Yes, okay… but next time we dance, beautiful boy." His fingers touch the inside of my wrist as I turn away toward the exit, ignoring Angelina's knowing glance. Jordan raises his bottle in my direction, the prick.

Potter's not made it far when I step outside into the cold night air. He's leaning against the front of the building with a cigarette dangling from his lips and barely glances my way. "So did he suck your cock, or did you suck his?"

I draw my eyebrows together, my pale face clearly amused at this showing of misplaced malice he's clearly using to cover up something else. "You've only been out here for five minutes, Potter. Even _I'm_ not that good."

"Such a fucking tease," he says nastily, and I'm caught off guard. I can't even find any words to say, which is a first for any Malfoy, I'm certain. "That's your problem Malfoy. You never fucking follow through."

"Excuse me?" I raise an eyebrow, second guessing my choice to come out here for a cigarette… which is indeed why I'd come out here. It hadn't anything to do with the bastard I'm currently sharing air with.

"Couldn't kill Dumbledore, could you? Had to have Snape do it. Didn't even switch sides properly in the end either, despite the fact that you would've died about three different times if it wasn't for me…"

"Right." And with a darkening gaze, I'm setting off in the opposite direction without caring at all if it's the _right _one. My goal is simply to put as much distance between Potter and myself so I can't strangle the bastard. His sudden outburst is unwarranted, meaning that for once in my life, I didn't actually _deserve_ someone hanging me out to dry, and I suddenly have a glimpse at what it might have felt like for him to listen to me spew out rubbish in his direction that I didn't really believe.

"Where are you going, Malfoy?"

I turn on him then, and I'm certain that I look like some kind of feral, wild thing. We Malfoys have never really had the best self-control. "Away from you, because I'd imagine the Ministry of Magic might have a problem with me killing Harry fucking Potter." It's just a guess, honestly, because what do I know anymore?

Not much, it would seem. Even Potter, the most predictable human being on the planet, is throwing me off lately.

He looks around mockingly. "I suppose you were going to walk until you made it back to camp."

"Yes," I nearly shriek.

He scowls, and yet still manages to look perfectly composed while doing it. It makes me hate him even more, because I know _I_ probably like someone's Persian cat left out in the rain. "I'll Side-Along you."

I sneer. "Is that some kind of sick innuendo?" I turn haughtily on my heel to continue on my way before I turn around, finger raised and pointed at him. "For your information, I am _not_ a tease when it counts, Potter, which you would know if you weren't so entranced with yourself that you're perfectly content spending night after night fucking your own hand."

He pauses, suddenly uncertain, but then his eyes change and darken with something that is entirely too familiar to me. "How would I know that?"

I freeze, heat rising to my too pale cheeks. "Because I don't know… maybe you'd treat me like I'm not just something in your head… like I'm a memory. Maybe you'd realize that I'm _here_ in front of you, in flesh and blood, and that…" I fade off for a moment, my eyes wide with alcohol and frustration. "And that I'm trying to make you see me as I am rather than what I _was_. But you won't fucking forget, will you? You'll never _fucking_ forget."

Potter closes in slowly and I back away, eyes narrowed, certain I'm about to be cursed within an inch of my life. "Do it," I snarl, adrenaline humming in my veins. My fists clench, because I know that if they didn't, my hands would be shaking. "Just fucking do it already. I know you've wanted to since I got here."

I feel myself slammed against the brick wall of the alleyway at my back, my thin shoulders scraping against it as Potter holds them there. I can't make out anything else about my surroundings, because Potter is my whole world in that moment. He's so close I can see his pulse jump at the base of his throat, and I can smell beer and whatever cologne he uses radiating off of him. "Do it," I taunt again, my gaze sliding along the stubble at his jaw and his eyes that flicker from mine to my lips and back up again.

"What are you waiting for? Coward! You fucking-" My words are cut off by his lips on mine, crushing the air out of my lungs with sharp gasp that I'm vaguely ashamed of.

There's no sudden burst of understanding… there's no epiphany as Harry Potter kisses me. There's only a frantic desperation to get a grip on the situation before it overcomes me, or worse, passes me by entirely. I've never felt so out of sorts with another man before, although to be fair, I've never been quite this caught off guard by another man before either.

His hands slip from my shoulders and his fingers splay across my hips instead, pulling them flush against his. I can feel how hard he is already and that in itself seems to jerk me awake like a bucket of water to the face.

My head tilts backward in spite of my slights efforts at exhibiting some self-restraint, and he nudges my chin to the side so he has better access to my neck and throat. "Fuck, Malfoy… you've no idea what you do to me…"

For once in my life, I have to admit that Harry Potter is right.

I try to lean into him, but he pushes me back into the wall with a low growl that, I have to admit, sends a shudder down my spine. "Don't move," he murmurs, as if I could even if I wanted to. He nudges his thigh between my legs and my hips buck forward of their own accord, pale lashes falling shut with a soft moan that he seems to enjoy. He brushes his lips against mine again. I've given up trying to make sense of anything right now, and lean in to kiss him back. But the bastard pulls away, until I'm chasing after him like a fool.

His mouth curls into a smile.

"You hate me," I whisper.

"Yeah, I do," he says as he kisses me again. I think that if this is hate, then I much prefer it to _love_. _Love_ is why my family expected to follow their wishes and _love _is the reason why I was forced to do so many unspeakable, awful things.

Fuck love.

I'm shaking as his hips press against mine, though I'm relieved to find that he wants this as badly as I do. His tongue brushes over my bottom lip lightly, in a way that sends a shiver down my spine. Our hands are everywhere at once, pulling at each others clothes and raking across each others skin. I'm desperate to see what he looks like underneath… to see if he's as fit as he looks even with his robes on.

My thumb grazes his jaw and my tongue soon follows, tracing over his rough stubble. "Tease," he groans, this time without any real malice.

"Am I still a tease if I intend to follow through?" He hisses softly as I bite the soft skin where his neck meets his shoulder. I've always loved finding out how far I can push someone... how far they're willing to go for me. But it's a bit different when it's Harry Potter I'm kissing and touching and wanting to do unspeakable things to.

His fingers drop and graze across the front of my jeans. "Harry…" I choke out, and he gives me a searching look.

"Let me take us back to camp," he murmurs gruffly. I nod.

With his rough hands still pulling at my clothes and my hips, we Apparate.


	4. Chapter 4

_Thank you for the reviews!_

xxx

We land in the middle of our tent, limbs entangled like a pair of overenthusiastic schoolboys while he pulls uselessly at my clothes. "Off," he instructs gruffly. "Let me see you." I know I would want this just as badly without the alcohol, but it certainly doesn't hurt to have a little liquid courage at times like these. My fingers shake as I pull off my jumper, but I'm relieved to see that his gaze darkens considerably as it rakes over my pale skin hungrily. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows.

Emboldened by this, I unbutton my jeans and push them down until they pool around my ankles so I can kick them across the floor. I stay still for a moment and bite my bottom lip, hesitant to look up at him in case its judgment I see there, or something worse. I know my cheeks are flushed when I finally do.

"You're beautiful, Draco," he murmurs almost reverently and to my embarrassment, I blush even more. Hard liquor has always made it impossible for me to hide my emotions, and my pale skin certainly doesn't help. He nods at my pants and I laugh breathily.

"You horrible glutton." I slide them off until my cock bobs free, pink and already slick with pre-come.

I decide his sharp intake of breath is a good sign.

He extends his hand out to me and I take it, his fingers curling into mine as my free hand goes to his fly. I look at him, searching for something, but he merely nods, and I sink to my knees. I'm naked, and he's still completely clothed… and I find this far more erotic than I think I should.

I fumble with the zip for a few moments before sliding his jeans down over his hips. His cock strains against the fabric as I pull it down over the hard flesh and breathe him in. It's been too long since I got involved with a man, even just for a night, and I can feel myself slipping back into habit. I know what it takes to make a man want more from me than I give them, just after one night, and I do it because I like having the power to deny them.

This though, is Harry Potter. I'm not sure I'm in familiar territory anymore.

His fingers slide through my white-blonde hair and he groans as I run my tongue over the head of his cock, already glistening with pre-come. "Fuck," he says, and I am encouraged. I take his entire length into my mouth with my cheeks hollowed and my tongue doing a wicked dance around his prick. He seems to be already on the verge of losing his composure, if he hasn't already, and when I look up at him, he moans.

They always love it when I look up at them with my lips wrapped around their cock. It undoes them.

I can feel him trying to keep himself from going over the edge completely as his hand falls heavy on my shoulder. "Get up." He jerks his chin at the cot, and I fall onto it on my back, my long limbs stretched out and my expression shamelessly wanton.

Later, when he's saying my name and my fingertips are running over his shoulders, I realize that this isn't _just_ sex. After all we've been through, after all these years, that would be impossible. It might be hate, or it might be infatuation… perhaps a combination of the two… but nothing can ever be that simple between Harry Potter and I.

When he shudders over me, he says my name, and I know with a horrible, panicked certainty, that it's _me_ who wants more from him than I think he can give me.

I'm still terrified when we fall asleep, tangled in each other's arms.

xxx

"Oh my _god_."

I wake to the sound of Angelina's voice reverberating through our tent and sharp morning light on my face. "For Christ's sake, Angie… let me through. We've all the same bits- fucking _hell_." I blink the sleep out of my eyes and find myself staring at Charlie who in turn is staring at _us_, still nestled in each other's arms and just as naked as the day we were born. We'd not bothered with a blanket the night before, obviously, and I'm certain he can see absolutely _everything_ from where he's standing.

Lucky bastard.

"Essentially, yes," Potter says sleepily next to my ear, "that does cover it." I pinch his thigh.

"How did this _happen_?" At my smirk, he corrects himself quickly and turns a bit red around the ears. "I mean… I know how it happened, but…" Angelina gently steers him out of the tent with a knowing glance in my direction as though she'd shoved us in bed together herself, and I suppose in a way she had. It's very Slytherin of her, and I'm duly impressed.

Harry stirs next to me and flops his arm over his eyes to block out the light. I sit up and move toward my side of the tent wordlessly, afraid to say anything, but I feel his eyes on my back as I go. "Last night…" he murmurs sleepily. "It really happened."

"I assure you, I'm just as distressed about it as you are," I say dryly, an impassive look on my pale face.

He says nothing for a moment, and I wonder if he's drifted off back to sleep. It would certainly make a swift exit a little easier. "Then let's just pretend that it didn't." His voice sounds gruff with sleep and I know if I turn around, his hair would still be deliciously mussed from when my fingers had run through it the night before. He'd also have a small bite mark where his neck meets his shoulder and marks on his back from where my fingers clawed at his skin as he fucked me into the mattress…

For my own sanity, I keep my eyes focused on the contents of my trunk. "Yes," I murmur after brief pause. "That would be wise." It's the only honest thing I can think of to say.

I dress quickly and leave the tent without another word. I'm not sure if Harry's fallen asleep – because he _is_ Harry now… not Potter – or if he's decided that silence is the best approach to an awkward situation like this one. Either way, I've no complaints.

Aside from the fact that I'll likely never sleep with him again. It's a fairly large inconvenience, given that I can't get last night out of my head.

Of course, last night meant nothing. _Nothing_. It was just a decent fuck.

I think maybe if I tell myself that often enough, I might even start to believe it.

xxx

"I should've taken that Romanian bloke up on his offer instead."

"Mm," Angelina murmurs in what I assume she thinks is a suitably sympathetic tone. It isn't. We're currently near the edge of the paddocks while she polishes her orphaned Chinese Fireball's scales to a shine. Its protruding eyes stare at me in a most disconcerting manner. Apparently, she's getting her ready for her first hunt in preparation for rejoining her herd. If she does it properly, and impresses the older dragons, they'll let her back in. If she doesn't… well. She simply doesn't have room for failure. I know better than most what that's like.

I never thought I'd feel any empathy for a dragon, but then again, I never thought I'd do half the things I've done in the past few days.

Or the past few hours, for that matter. Waking up in Harry Potter's bed had never quite made it onto my bucket list.

"I could have just let him fuck me in one of the bathroom stalls and called it a night," I continue on irritably, determined to get a reaction.

"And here I thought you'd be _more_ tolerable once you'd been properly shagged." I scowl at her, though she seems oblivious. "Who're you writing to?"

She's been surprisingly silent about finding Harry and I in bed earlier in the morning, though I've no doubt she had her fun with Charlie about it after their quick exit. "My mother." I pause. "She worries when I don't." I've yet to make it past the greeting, of course, because I've no real news to tell her, aside from the fact that her son has just finished sucking The Chosen One's dick.

"That's sweet." She pauses and scratches a bit of dirt off of the Fireball's scales. "So when are you going to tell him that you're in love with him?" I blink up at her from where I'm sitting a short distance away and frown, my eyes narrowed and, hopefully, bemused. This is the first real interest she's shown in the conversation, and while I do enjoy my own company above all else, it had been getting a bit one-sided.

However, I'm not sure this is an improvement.

"Probably never," I intone coolly, "as I'm not."

She grins. "You're a horrible liar, Malfoy. The only one you have convinced is yourself." She pauses and pats her dragon. "Priscilla doesn't even believe you, do you sweetheart?" The reptile huffs a little fireball in my direction, and I flail backward as though attempting to imitate a crab.

Angelina laughs.

"Don't be such a cow," I advise her petulantly, my letter now ruined and crumpled in my fist. I pause for a few moments, knowing that I oughtn't say what I'm thinking while being simultaneously aware that I'm going to anyway. "He suggested that we pretend it didn't happen."

She pauses in her ministrations for a brief half-second and sighs. "Idiots."

I can't help but agree.

xxx

Harry's mumbling to himself and waving his hand around as though swatting flies when I walk into the tent, causing me to stop and consider if going any further would really be wise. "Um," I say intelligently, my gaze flicking between him and the exit.

It's too close to call as to which I desire more at the moment.

"They'll shut us down, those bastards." He fixes me with a heated glare, not unlike the one I was given the night before, though I very much doubt I'm about to be thrown up against a wall at any time in the near future. The shocking lack of walls in this camp does make that a bit difficult.

"Mm," I murmur in what I hope is a sympathetic tone. I'm not sure I've ever managed to sound sympathetic in my whole entire life, so I'm not sure how successful I actually am. Luckily for both of us, he seems to be too deep in his own despair to really pay much attention to me. We'd all be short one disastrous shag if that happened to be true _all_ the time.

He sighs dejectedly. "They're cutting our funding. In _half_. The damn Wizengamot needs to 'cut federal spending' and apparently, this program is not nearly important to stay alive, while The Troll Humanitarian Program _is_, regardless of the fact that one nearly killed me in my first year. Had it succeeded, you'd be kissing Voldemort's feet and bending over the nearest hard surface every time a Death Eater with a taste for a tight arse happened to pass by."

The words tumble out before I can even think of stopping them. "It's not nearly as demoralizing if you act like you want it." He pauses in his rampage then with his hand half-raised and his mouth half-open. It'd be comical if it were taken out of context, but as it is, I'm feeling a bit too miserable to really summon the energy required to laugh.

"Did they…? Christ, Malfoy… you didn't-" His face has turned horribly pale. I can almost manage a smile at that. He'll be a humanitarian to the last, and it's some comfort to realize that some things will never change.

"Didn't say anything?" I do manage a harsh laugh at that. "What did you expect them to do to me after I _couldn't kill Dumbledore_?" My voice is a mimicry of his from the night before, when he'd uttered those same words. "I was useless to them then, in every way except one."

I try not to let them, but the memories flood back into my mind… of being forced to do unspeakable, filthy things while my screams were met with laughter and the sound of my mother pounding on the door, trying to break through to save her son. I close my eyes briefly, steeling myself against them. When I open them again, Harry's watching me with a strange look on his face that I can't read, and I'm certain I don't want to try.

If it's pity, I want none of it.

"Have you tried an appeal? Perhaps a petition?" I ask conversationally, as if I'd not just bared my soul to the last person I'd expect to understand how truly disgusting and wrecked I am on the inside.

He hesitates. "No. Charlie wants to weigh our options first. He says we won't go down without a fight."

I sniff affectedly. "Of course not. You Gryffindors never do." I attempt a slightly disparaging tone, though his expression doesn't change in the slightest.

"I've another meeting with him now," he says finally. A muscle jumps in his jaw as he glances at me again.

"I'm sorry," he says. It's a true apology and one not meant to be interpreted as sympathy or kindness, though for the life of me, I can't figure out what he's referring to: the night before or our entire lives before that. Perhaps it's the fact that he never saved me. I'm not sure the thought ever crossed his mind to try.

I'm still trying to understand what he meant by it when he leaves without saying another word.

xxx

When Harry still hasn't come back at half past ten and I've just started to wonder if I ought to raise some kind of alert that The Chosen One might be missing, Angelina pops her head into our tent, nearly startling me into rolling off of my bed. "We're going to the lake," she informs me without bothering to start off with a greeting like most normal people might.

"I haven't any swim trunks," I say with a scowl, which only earns me a snort from the witch.

"You don't need any. Come on." I frown as the tent flap swings closed again and get to my fight, though I know I'll regret it if I follow her. Of course I do anyway, because I'm nothing if not self-destructive these days.

We make our way out to the lake in silence, though I can practically hear her smirk in the dark. It's only when we reach the edge of it that I figure out why.

Lee and Harry are already in the lake, soaking wet, and naked.

Angelina plows into the lake with a whoop, pulling off her shirt as she goes, apparently not shy in the slightest about flashing her breasts around. It could be worse, I suppose. While she's in the company of three fully grown men, two of them are gay, so there's really not much harm in it. Most men's fascination with breasts has always perplexed me, even when I was thirteen and discovering them for the first time.

I should have understood a little better why from the way I was always much more interested in watching the other boys in the Quidditch changing room.

I'm still standing on the edge of the lake like a numpty when Angelina calls me in. "Don't be a pansy, Malfoy. There's only one person here who wants to see you naked."

"Fuck you," Harry advises her tersely.

She grins. "I was talking about myself, actually. But your defensiveness is very informative, Harry…" He splashes her irritably and her braids swing in the moonlight as she tries to get away.

I sniff primly and grasp the hem of my shirt between my fingers with some hesitation before pulling it over my head. I'm immediately freezing and I wrap my arms over my chest to keep out the cold night air. Angelina snorts and moves toward me. "I'm giving you ten seconds before I drag you in, Malfoy."

"She's sweet, isn't she," Lee murmurs, though he can't seem to keep his eyes off of her, the poor bastard.

I huff and roll my eyes, but I do acquiesce and slip out of my trousers and pants. I'm pleased to note that Harry colors considerably as his gaze rakes over my naked form. He even bites his bottom lip as I wade into the water.

"Like anything you see?" I ask derisively, eyes fixed on his face. The red on his cheeks is visible even in this semi-darkness. "I'll take that as a yes."

We splash around for a bit, relishing the cold water on our skin. It's a nice contrast to the scorching heat we work in during the day, I have to admit. "Wicked scar," Lee informs me as he jerks his chin at my chest. "How'd you get it?"

I glance at Harry. "I got in a fight with a powerful wizard."

He snorts. "I take it you lost."

"Clearly." I'm careful to make sure my face reveals nothing… no regret, no malice, and no ill will. I suppose I can only be relieved that no one's commented on the black scar on my forearm, aside from Angelina, but humiliation is much easier to bear when there's only one person there to witness it. And as long as that person isn't Harry Potter.

"Lee's jealous," Angelina informs us all.

"Shut it," he says, before yanking on her wrist to draw her closer. She laughs and rests a hand casually on his shoulder. I turn away, as I'm certain I don't want to see anymore.

Harry moves in a bit closer to me, apparently having no desire to watch the mating rituals of heterosexuals either. I've been friends with Pansy long enough to know in detail exactly how it goes, and I've never had any wish to participate. "A powerful wizard?" he murmurs, his eyes dark and sweeping over my shoulder… drinking me in.

"Of a sort," I amend, turning away. His hand catches my wrist.

"Malfoy…" he says. I pull my hand out of his grasp with a pained look on my face.

"Don't," I mutter. "Don't ask me to act like last night didn't happen and then…" I bite my bottom lip and look down. "Please. I can't." I know exactly where this will go if I let it. We'll have a short fling until my time here is up, and then we'll go our separate ways again because he won't want to be seen in public with a former Death Eater. With me.

And I can't blame him in the slightest.

The only problem is that while I know he might be ready to let me go when it's time, I'm not sure I would be, so I do the only thing I know how in situations like these. I grab my clothes and walk away, pulling them on as a I go in as graceful a manner as I can muster.

When Angelina shouts after me, I ignore her. Harry doesn't follow me.

I can almost convince myself that I don't care.


	5. Chapter 5

_Thank you for the reviews! _

xxx

When I wake the next morning after a fitful night's sleep, Harry's still tucked under his covers with only a few tufts of messy black hair poking over the blankets. I snort quietly and scoot to the edge of my bed, wondering in spite of myself when he came back in. I'd fallen asleep thinking of his gaze raking over my body, so it's no wonder that I've woken up feeling a bit frustrated. _He_, however, seems to have no problems sleeping at all.

Bastard.

I blink the sleep out of my eyes and pull a wool cable knit sweater over my head. The mornings are rather chilly, even when the days make me feel like my own blood is boiling. I've a feeling that only half of that is truly Harry's fault.

When I stride out into the sunlight, Weasley's making his way down between the two rows of tents with a mailbag slung over his shoulder. "Are all Weasleys this energetic, or is it just the ones with ginger hair?" I fold my arms across my chest, my lips twitching upward in the beginnings of a smile.

The very sight of me seems to tire him. I do seem to have that effect on people. "You're in a good mood, Malfoy," he observes.

"Shouldn't I be?" I give him a crooked grin, knowing full well that his thoughts are flying backward to the sight of Harry and I tangled up in bed together. Remembering it makes my chest ache, but I feel a bit better when the tips of his ears turn a little red. He rummages through his satchel and pulls out a letter with my name scrawled across the front of the envelope.

He grimaces as he hands it to me. "I've been meaning to speak to you about that." I take the letter from him and slide it open lazily, my eyebrows arched slightly.

"Oh?" My eyes run over the message quickly and grow wide.

"I wasn't sure if your living arrangements were… ideal anymore. I can find you a new bunkmate, if you'd rather-"

I skim over the letter hurriedly written and signed by a healer. "My mother's sick," I interrupt, feeling both frantic and irrationally angry that I'm not there with her. Instead I'm here, attempting to appease the government for crimes they'll never really forgive me for with a lot of egoistic men, the worst of whom happens to be sharing a tent with me. "I have to go." My voice is strangely calm, although I am anything but.

Charlie's arms fall loosely to his side. "You can't." My fists automatically clench and seeing this, he continues hurriedly. I don't think he's as concerned for himself as he is about keeping me out of Azkaban, which is exactly where I'd be headed if I struck my supervisor. "I mean, you can't right now. I'll have to fill out the paperwork so the Ministry can approve a Portkey to take you back to England. The rules of your probation are very stringent…"

"No," I say loudly. "You can tell the Ministry that Draco Malfoy said he doesn't give a _fuck_ and that-"

"What's going on?" Harry comes out of our tent, shielding his sleepy eyes from the rising sun and taking in the scene. Charlie's standing stock still, though he looks relieved to see Harry. I can't blame him. Harry's the only person beside myself that I've really paid any attention to, even when we were in school.

"My mother is ill and Weasley intends to keep me here when she already has one Louboutin in the grave," I say without hesitation.

Harry blinks, suddenly awake. "So… let's go."

This gives me pause. "Pardon me?"

He shrugs. "You're limited by your probation. You can't Apparate and you couldn't find someone who would sell you a Portkey even if you got down on your knees and begged."

"Well, I'm sure you find the imagery very pleasing nonetheless-"

"But I can."

I frown and press my lips together in a thin line. "I need a Ministry-approved Portkey." Regardless of my earlier outburst, logic is slowly flooding back into my thoughts, albeit a bit belatedly, and I know that I'd never even make it to my mother's bedside before the Aurors had me clapped in irons and on the first boat to Azkaban.

He looks around at the reserve and the dragons snoozing lightly on top of the hill, their wings tucked around their bodies and their young. Something about it seems to make up his mind for him.

"Fuck that. Let's go."

"You're not the Ministry," I inform him dryly, in case he'd forgotten.

"No, but I _am_ Harry fucking Potter, and I'm going with you."

And really, who can argue with that?

xxx

The healer's waiting for us at the end of the drive when the Portkey drops us off rather unceremoniously at the gate. "Welcome home, Mr. Malfoy," he says. I dust off my trousers while Potter doesn't bother with his and study the balding, grey-coated wizard with a great deal of skepticism.

"Wanker," I say under my breath.

"Sir?"

"Nothing." Harry snorts under his breath at my side. "Is she… all right?" My question is somewhat halting. My mother has been a little sickly off and on since the end of the war, and I'd been hesitant to leave home. Her magic's been a little… flighty ever since. A particularly bad fit means broken mirrors and windows, while a minor one means a day confined to bed while the lighting charms flicker on and off occasionally. I feel Harry's fingertips brush against my spine in what I assume is meant to be comforting. It only makes me feel a bit ill.

"Yes… in a manner of speaking. She's stable now, Mr. Malfoy-"

"But?"

"_But _her magic is…"

"Fucked," I suggest helpfully. He nods and I close my eyes, my hand shielding them from sight. Everyone knows what happens when a Pureblooded witch's magic begins to deteriorate… it's only a matter of time before her body begins to as well. From there, it's only a matter of time.

I drop my hand and begin to walk up the path with both men at my heels and white peacocks prancing across the dirt in front of me. I turn. "Harry, thank you. I assume you can see yourself back out."

He frowns, jerking his foot away from a curious peacock. "What are you on about Malfoy?"

"You've got dragons to see to, don't you? If you want a true showing of my gratitude, you'll have to wait until we're both at camp. I assure you, I'll make sure all your demands are sated." I level my gaze with him, my grey eyes knowing and suitably disgusted. I know why he's agreed to do this, and I'm in no position to deny him it. I fold my arms over my chest defensively as his face falls.

"Malfoy. I'm not- _no_. That's disgusting." He balks and raises his hand. "I mean… you're certainly not disgusting. The thought of… you know… with you... isn't disgusting. But I would never take advantage like that." His teeth are worrying his bottom lip in a way that makes him appear almost childlike. I've not seen that look on his face in years.

"Then why are you here?" I'm now thoroughly perplexed and the poor healer is standing uncertainly between us with his hands shoved awkwardly in his jacket as he pretends not to listen.

His face hardens again, and I find myself somewhat relieved. "If the Ministry comes looking, they'll be far more forgiving if you've me as a houseguest."

I nod stiffly and turn back around, facing the manor again. I suppose his logic is sound and besides that, I'd no intention of spreading my legs to survive ever again. I'm relieved I'm not being asked to do it for Harry Potter.

For the most part.

"Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. Malfoy?" the healer asks.

I sigh. "Some silence would be marvelous, Healer…"

"Carmichael."

"Healer Carmichael." And with that, the three of us make our way into Malfoy Manor with the peacocks pecking at our heels.

Welcome home, indeed.

xxx

My mother is in surprisingly good spirits when I walk into her bedroom. "Darling, you needn't come home just because I've a bit of a cold." I close my eyes briefly as I sit in the vacant red velvet armchair next to her bed.

"The healer says it's your magic." Sometimes I despair of my family's near-constant desire to pretend as though everything is fine when it _clearly_ is not. I give her an even look and she presses her lips together in a frown. Despite her illness, my mother looks just as refined as she ever did when she was at her full health before my father ruined us all. Her blonde hair is piled up on top of her hair in an elegant chignon, despite the fact that she had to know the only people who were going to see her today were the healer and I. "Mum…"

"How is your new job, Draco?" She raises her chin a few degrees, successfully cutting me off from finishing my sentence.

I look down and stifle the urge to roll my eyes. "Splendid," I say dryly. "I particularly enjoy the fact that I'm not getting paid. I do love slave labor." She shakes her head, though there's the beginnings of a smile tugging at her lips.

"Your father and I are still very proud of you, regardless." She coughs and rubs her chest with her brow furrowed. I pretend not to notice.

"How is the old man?" I ask.

And right away I know I've done something that I shouldn't have.

Her face twists and her eyes shine with a far away, distant look as though trying to drown herself in old memories and happier times that she'll never be able to reclaim. They've been taken from her. Harry's sort were not the only side of the war that lost something.

But people like to forget about that.

"He's fine," she says, her voice trembling. She looks up at me with wide, glistening eyes. "His memory's slipping. He told me I deserved to rot for leaving him in Azkaban last time I went to see him, but he… you know he doesn't know what he's saying anymore." The lights begin to shudder and the crystal figurines inside one of the oak cabinets begin to shake, knocking into one other violently.

"Overdramatic fucker," I say with a smile, trying to lighten the mood.

"Yes." She attempts a smile for my sake, but the window begins to fracture. Her breath is coming in tiny little gasps that seem to hurt her, though even now, she's trying to make it seem like she's fine.

Healer Carmichael comes rushing in and presses his wand against a vein in my mother's wrist. "Draco, darling… I'm fine…" The healer gives me a passing glance and jerks his chin at the door, instructing me to go without saying a word. I'd be impressed under any other circumstance.

"I know you are," I lie, and I flee the room like a coward.

xxx

I don't make it three steps before I've collided headfirst into Harry's chest, who drops his hands to my waist to steady me. I press my forehead into his shoulder, and he lets me. Once I've regained some modicum of composure, I slump against the wall as my mother's cries fill the hallway. The lights are still flickering wildly above our heads. "Christ," I say. "Fucking hell…" I cover my face with my hands, embarrassed at my outburst.

His rough hands wrap around my thin wrists until I'm forced to lower them. "Draco," he says. He takes my chin between his thumb and index finger and tips it upward.

"Don't," I say. I pull away, my eyes steely and hard.

His voice is tight and slightly strained. "What do you want me to do?"

I look at the man in front of me, and I realize that this can't be easy for him either, being in a place where his best friend was tortured and where he was kept prisoner while my relatives waited with varying levels of enthusiasm to turn him over to the Dark Lord. I consider my next words carefully.

"I need a cigarette."

xxx

"You don't trust me."

I sigh and take another drag off of my cigarette, the tip glowing orange and the smoke curling over my fingers. He's looking at me, but I refuse to look at him. "Of course I don't. Why would I?"

He frowns. "I saved your life."

"Yes, and how many times do you intend to remind me? It's getting a bit boring."

He looks out over the pathway in front of the house and the white peacocks prancing across it. "I want to know why." I glance at him then, my brow furrowed, as I try to figure out what he means. "Why don't you trust me?"

"You fucked me over."

"How?" He spits the word out violently. "Because I wanted you?"

I bring the cigarette to my mouth again, meaning to disguise my nerves, though I've failed to remember that my hands are probably shaking. His gaze flickers from my face to the tremor running through my fingers. "Once," I murmur.

He laughs. "That _would_ be convenient," he murmurs. "But I still want you." My breath catches as I turn to look at him, certain that he's taking the piss, but there's no sign of it on his face. Before, _I _might have laughed. I'd have been positively gleeful over the fact that I had Harry Potter's adoration, and I'd have bent and twisted it into something unrecognizable. Now though, I'm afraid to acknowledge it at all.

"You're mad," I inform him none too gently.

He grins. "Probably. Do you mind?"

"Not terribly. I think it's a vast improvement." His thumb brushes against the side of my wrist.

"Good. And when I said that I thought it'd be best if we pretended like it never happened, I was rather hoping you'd point out I was wrong."

I lick my lips. "But you weren't." He raises his eyebrow and I shrug. "You _weren't_. You're 'Harry fucking Potter' as you so _eloquently _put it, and I'm… well." I flick the cigarette away from me and turn away to exhale.

"If you believe that, then we can forget about it." He sounds vaguely put out, and I'm reminded of the boy I knew from school, who was so oblivious that he never could see past my thinly veiled attempts at keeping his attention. "But I hope you don't."

"You're calling me a liar," I point out. It's a last attempt at saving myself.

"No. I'm only _hoping_ that you are." He grins mildly. "But don't worry. I won't touch you again unless I'm certain you want me to." His words seem careful, as though he's afraid of upsetting me. The thought occurs to me that he truly believes there's a possibility I don't want him back, which strikes me as slightly ridiculous. I want him so much I'm ashamed of the way my body reacts when he comes into the room. I'm ashamed of the fact that I think about him more than I think about either of my parents, both of whom are still fighting a war that has long been over for Harry, no matter what ghosts might still haunt him now.

"Your mother-"

"Please don't," I say, not unkindly. I'd just rather not talk about her at the moment, and besides, there's absolutely nothing to be said. I don't want his apologies, and I don't want his pity. He seems to understand this and nods, lighting another cigarette and taking a slow drag off of it.

We fall into a companionable silence, and I think that perhaps for the first time since we began this insane journey, I might have a chance at understanding this strange, complicated man sitting next to me.

I'm not sure if I'm right, but I do intend to find out.

xxx

Late that night, when my mother's already gone to bed and the house elves are dozing, I leave my room and head to the blue room that's been set up for Harry. I stop myself in front of his door, my hand flat against the wood grain as I try to picture him asleep beyond it. It's slightly creepy, I'm aware, but I just can't make myself take the last step and turn the doorknob.

I know he'd like me to. Hell, he'd want me to… he made that much clear earlier in the day.

But that doesn't change the facts. I'm an ex-Death Eater on probation for crimes against the wizarding world that no on, least of all him, should ever forgive me for, and he's the one who saved the world from us. It doesn't even make sense for us to be in the same house together, much less divided by nothing more than a door. It's far worse when you factor in all the signs that we both want each other.

In fact, it's quite mad, all things considered.

But _mad_ seems to work for me lately. I've spent so long trying to keep everything in its proper place and trying to keep some sort of semblance in my life that finally letting go feels like a relief.

In spite of all that, I just can't force myself to cross this last line into total chaos. I don't know what I think or what needs to be done, but I do know that he was wrong earlier. I _do_ trust him, to a certain extent. I trust him with my life and have done too many times in the past, and to his credit, the fact that I'm still standing is proof enough that he's not let me down on that count.

But to trust him with my heart? The only part of me that's not broken… that's still _mine_?

That's not a mistake I intend to make.

I turn away from his room and slip quietly back into mine, the door clicking shut behind me.


	6. Chapter 6

_Thank you for the reviews_!

xxx

Breakfast the next morning is quiet at first.

My mother sits at the head of it as the hands of the grandfather clock in the corner tick away the seconds. "Forgive me, but your presence in my home is rather unexpected, Harry Potter." I close my eyes briefly. God preserve us all.

"I apologize, Mrs. Malfoy-"

"Narcissa."

Harry's gaze slides my way. He's clearly amused. "Narcissa. I'm just as surprised as you are, but I wanted to make sure Draco got here quickly," he hesitates, "and safely. He was very concerned."

My mother waves one bejeweled hand, the heavy bracelets on her wrist falling together with several metallic clinks. I'm certain she's most comfortable while she's wearing them, but right now, in her weakened condition, they simply make her look a little sickly. She's very thin… worryingly so. "My son can be a little theatrical." I shoot her a _look_, but she merely glances at me with an exasperated fondness.

Harry grins conspiratorially. "I've been made aware." My mother titters appreciatively.

I'm horrified. "For fuck's sake."

She waves a hand at me. "Language, darling. So Harry, I've been told you cut quite an intimidating figure on the dragon reserve."

"I did _not_ say that…" She merely sips her tea to hide her smile while I try very hard not to meet Harry's gaze. Smug bastard.

"I do enjoy my job," he acknowledges.

"Yes, well you've already made _quite _an impression on Draco here. I should let you read his letters…"

"Dear god," I moan.

Harry smiles charmingly. It hasn't even been five minutes and he already has my mother wrapped around his finger, all the while looking perfectly composed and… entirely out of place in his dragonhide coat. "Are you cold?" I ask him mockingly. He ignores me.

Aside from that, he looks damn good. His hair is a wretched mess, as usual, but it suits him better now that he's no longer the scrawny, bespectacled boy I met in Madame Malkin's. He's filled out quite nicely, with those broad shoulders and big hands…

It's entirely too difficult to describe just how awkward it is to be having these thoughts in front of my mother.

"Why aren't you eating?" I turn to my mother with steely eyes, half because I'm desperate to change the subject and half because I'm truly concerned. "Tilly, has she been eating?" The house-elf just looks at me with eyes the size of dinner plates, which is answer enough. I close my eyes and try to calm myself long enough to get out a civilized sentence that won't throw my mother into yet another fit.

She studies me patiently. She knows all my ticks and all my flaws. She knows what's bound to set me off.

Seeing her this unwell is one of them.

"Finish that grapefruit," I instruct tersely, and I watch out of the corner of my eye as the pleasant smile slips off of Harry's face. My mother's gaze hardens and I can almost visibly see her closing herself off.

"Darling, let's not ruin a perfectly good breakfast-"

I slam my hand down on the tabletop, making the plates and glasses rattle on its surface. Though I'm shaking, I'm careful to make sure my face and my voice is perfectly composed. I'm not the only one in this family who's good at pretending I'm okay when I'm not. It's a necessary skill for survival if you're born a Malfoy, or if you happen to have the misfortune of marrying one. "Finish the fucking grapefruit, mother."

Harry makes a strained sort of noise as though he's trying to hold back a laugh. "Fuck you," I inform him tersely before standing and striding out of the room without once looking back.

xxx

I'm sitting out in the garden when he slips onto the bench next to me. There's a long pause, and it's only when I've grown truly irritable that he's interrupted my solitude just to create an awkward silence that he speaks up.

"She finished the fucking grapefruit."

I want to punch him. I do. But a corner of my mouth lifts just barely, and the urge is lost. "Piss off."

He touches my arm lightly with the back of his hand. "I'm sorry, Draco."

I sigh. "Yeah," I say quietly, "me too."

"It isn't your fault," he says stoically. I snort and eye him pointedly, my slender fingertips clutching my knees a bit too hard to be entirely casual. "It isn't," he insists.

"It's all my fault," I inform him in a factual, monotone voice. "I could have told Voldemort to piss off and kill Dumbledore himself if he wanted it done properly." Harry flinches, and I'm sadistically a bit pleased. "I could have taken my mother away from all of this and… I don't know… hidden her somewhere. We've a place in France…"

Harry rakes a hand through his hair. "Doubtful on both counts. I reckon you were just trying to be brave by staying, in a roundabout, illogical sort of way..."

I frown at him and he laughs. "Really. You knew you were fucked if you stayed or if you went, didn't you?" I nod. "So you stayed for your family. Because if you didn't, he'd have…" he waves his hand vaguely. The notion of what Voldemort would've done to my family had I deserted is apparently too gruesome to say out loud.

"I should have helped you," he continues, and I roll my eyes. "I should have done something, but I…"

"I'd imagine you had enough on your plate at the time," I inform him wearily, already tired of conversations like these.

He looks over at me, all signs of his earlier good humor gone. "You'd have been worth it." I can feel the color rising to my cheeks, and he brushes his knuckle against my flushed skin. I allow myself to enjoy it for a moment before I snap back to reality and shift almost imperceptibly away, though he doesn't fail to notice. His hand drops back down to his side and he sighs.

I want to apologize, but I don't dare lest he try to turn it into something that it isn't.

And it's a good thing I don't, because Tilly is soon pulling on sleeve, her huge eyes looking unblinkingly up at me. "Miss Parkinson is wanting to see Master Malfoy in the sitting room."

I sigh as Harry suddenly sits up a little straighter at my side. "Pansy?"

"Yes," I murmur tiredly.

It's going to be a long afternoon.

xxx

"Draco… _darling_…" My best friend rushes at me and kisses my cheek before fussing over the state of my windblown hair and slightly ruffled collar. Her gaze slides past me a bit belatedly to spot Harry standing there, though if his presence bothers her, she doesn't show it. Pansy's mastered hiding her emotions even better than I have, and it's come in handy more than once for both of us.

"Potter," she says, without inflection or change in expression.

He meets her gaze steadily. "Harry will do." She nods tersely and takes a seat on the edge of the hideous floral patterned sofa my mother inherited from Grandmother Black when she died. People can so _cruel_, even in death. It both fascinates and concerns me.

Harry and I sit across from her, together, on the similarly atrocious sofa across from hers. She raises her eyebrows but decides not to say anything… I can almost _see_ the wheels turning in her conniving little brain. It's a bit frightening, to say the least. "How is Narcissa?" she asks finally.

"Stubborn."

She laughs. "I assume the healer overreacted again in sending for you."

"Obviously," I say dryly, "as she's still living." I pause and reflect on the fact that I've not seen or heard her since breakfast. "Presumably."

She takes her gloves off and lays them carefully across her lap. "You ought to find a new healer. You ought to take her-"

"What healer in their right mind would take her? She's a Death Eater's wife, and they've their careers to think of."

Pansy says nothing for a moment, then looks sharply up at me. "Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Draco. It isn't very becoming." I blink at her, stunned into silence, and glance sideways at Harry who says nothing in my defense. Her tone softens, and she leans across the gap between us to settle her hand over mine. "We want the best for you, darling, but you're denying yourself it." Her gaze flickers to Harry on the 'we', and I frown as the pieces finally fall into place.

"Harry… he told you I was back." Harry looks away, successfully incriminating himself while I silently fume. I turn to him. "Why would you do that?"

"A moment, Harry," Pansy says sternly, and he dips his head in assent before leaving the sitting room. She watches his retreating form with her dark bob framing her face perfectly without a hair out of place. "He cares about you," she observes quietly.

"He wants to fuck me sideways just for the thrill of having done it," I correct. "There is a difference."

She leans back and crosses her legs. Her heels look particularly threatening today and are certainly sharp enough to stab someone through the heart if need be. I know Pansy too well to think that it's a coincidence. "Then why," she says in a soft voice, "would he have sent for me?"

I look down and fiddle with one of my cuffs.

"You care about him too, then," she muses, apparently to herself. She smiles and looks down at her gloves, chuckling. "Oh, Draco…"

"Fuck off," I advise her tersely, while refusing to meet her gaze. "It doesn't matter. I don't intend to throw myself at him. I've my pride."

Pansy's still smiling. "More's the pity for you then." She leans forward with a conspiratorial look in her eyes. "Because if you don't intend to take him to bed with you, I _wil._"

I scowl at her and throw a butterscotch candy from the vase in the middle of the side table her way. "Bitch."

She looks positively radiant. "You love it."

I sniff haughtily. "You couldn't give him what he wants. You don't have a cock."

"The last man who used that as an excuse for why I couldn't do something as well as he could," she examines her fingernails idly, "got his balls hexed off and handed to him." And frighteningly enough, she might not be lying about that.

She waves a hand distractedly. "But that's hardly the point. I'm certain Narcissa could use some girl time… I know _I_ could – why most attorneys are men, I'll never understand – so you just go back to Romania with Harry, who you are most determinedly not sleeping with, and finish out your probation. We'll all still be here when you come back."

I blink at her. "What on earth are you carrying on about Parkinson?"

"Oh, I'm staying. My bags are already up in my room… you know the one. I've always _adored_ that Victorian-style four poster bed in the west wing…"

I close my eyes for a moment before standing, utterly defeated. She rises too, apparently confused by the sudden change. "I'll just tell Harry then-"

"Oh, he knows," she chirps.

I freeze and then shake my head with a soft laugh that surprises even me. Out of all of the bad that happened in my fairly short life, who would have thought that Pansy Parkinson would emerge as one of the best things about it? She is the only person who I know without doubt would never betray me and that kind of trust is rare. My hand reaches across to hold her elbow while my lips brush her cheek lightly. "Thank you."

She gives my shoulder a squeeze. "Everything's going to be fine, Draco."

And God, I wish I could believe her.

xxx

When I walk into his room, Harry's sitting on his bed with a book open on his lap that he's no doubt stolen from one of the many bookcases throughout the manor. It's a small miracle that the contents of it haven't cursed him into oblivion, though I suspect Harry Potter of all people knows to check a book for malevolent spells before he opens it.

"Prick," I say tersely in greeting, and he looks up with a start. I lean against the doorframe and cross my arms, studying him intently all the while trying hard not to notice how utterly delicious he looks sprawled across the duvet on his stomach with a book propped up in front of him.

"She's staying?"

I snort. "It's Pansy. Of course she is." I pause and eye him with an arched eyebrow, though I'm too tired to really muster up any true malice. It would seem that I'd unnecessarily wasted enough of that on him anyway. "Why'd you ask her to come?"

He sighs and sits up, raking a hand through his ridiculous hair. "I was afraid you wouldn't come back with me if she didn't. And frankly, so was she."

I tilt my head to the side dubiously with my lips fixed in a thin line, though I know his concern wasn't entirely without reason. I'm still hesitant to leave my mother, even with the knowledge that Pansy will be watching over her and making _damn_ sure that the healer does his job properly.

"I didn't want you to end up in Azkaban for not finishing out the month," he continues after a moment.

"How noble of you." I peer over at him impassively and incline my chin a few degrees. "But I'm not a fool."

"I never said you were, Draco. But you _are_ loyal."

I shift uneasily against the doorframe and eye him suspiciously. "I don't understand you. When I arrived at the reserve, you treated me just the same as you did in school. You don't have to be nice to people just because you've fucked them Potter."

He scowls for the first time in a long time and shakes his head. "If that's what you think this is…" He sighs and looks at me. "I thought you were the same as the boy I knew in school. But you're not."

"You never knew that boy," I point out stubbornly. A small smile pulls at his lips, and I hate him for it.

"You're probably right."

"Oh do stop coddling me, Harry. I've my mother for that." He laughs and leans back, stretching his arms out behind him. His shirt hitches up a few inches until I can see a swath of skin between his trousers and his jumper. My breath hitches and when I look up, he's studying me inquisitively. I know I've been caught, but I won't acknowledge it. "We'll leave first thing in the morning. I assume you'll arrange for transportation."

He doesn't say anything, and I don't blame him. Instead, he merely nods, and I turn away to say goodbye to my mother.

xxx

They have a campfire waiting for us the night after we arrive back at the reserve. Harry and I had been fairly civil to each other all day, though I can tell it's taking some effort to restrain himself from saying the things he wants to. I applaud his strength, really, because whatever it is, I'm certain I don't want to hear it. Charlie had insisted that he take the day off, and to my surprise, he had. He'd spent it by trying to teach himself how to whittle with me making the occasional scathing comment from across the tent.

People like to think me cruel, but really, I consider it a good deed. Being told you _can't_ do something is one of the best motivators I know of.

Even if it's to do something as daft as whittling.

We walk to the fire together, just the two of us, without speaking until we reach it, and by then, it's too late for us to say anything because people are reaching out to him to clap him on the back in welcome. Considerably fewer bother to say anything to me, and I've a sense that they're only doing it to be polite.

It's slightly absurd, given that we'd only been gone for two days, but I suppose when you're isolated in the middle of Romania with only dragons and dirty men for company, you'll use anything as a reason to celebrate.

It doesn't take long before the other dragon keepers have swept Harry away, and to be honest, I'm a bit relieved. Spending so much time in each other's presence makes it a bit difficult for me to keep my distance, but I'm determined to do it anyway. There's only a couple more weeks left before I can go back to Wiltshire for good and forget about Harry fucking Potter entirely.

I sit by myself on one of the logs circling the fire, feeling a little out of place but nearly as much as I had when I'd first arrived. It's a strange thing, but I think I might miss Romania a little when I leave.

I try to convince myself that it'll be the only thing I'll miss.

Angelina settles onto my log and tilts her face toward me. "I'm glad your mum's doing better." I shrug noncommittally and she nudges me with her elbow. "Harry seems to be doing better too."

I glance at her and then at Harry, who's listening to someone tell a story and laughing. He looks across the fire for a moment and our eyes meet.

I look away. "I don't know what you mean."

She shrugs and settles her chin in her palm. "Haven't you noticed? He smiles now." She gives me a conspiring look and once again, I find myself despairing of the woman in my life. "He never used to before you got here."

I consider this absurd statement for a moment as she turns away to say something to Lee, leaving me more confused and uncertain than I had been before.


	7. Chapter 7

_Thank you for the reviews!_

xxx

I'm jostled awake by one bespectacled dragon keeper who is peering down at me, bright-eyed and apparently excited about something… though what that something _is_ remains unclear. Almost everything _is_ unclear though, when I first wake up, so I turn over in the hopes that he'll give up and go on his merry way without me.

Apparently, not even an utterly shaggable Harry Potter first thing in the morning is enough to get me out of bed, which says something about my strength of will… or the lack thereof.

Of course the bastard is just as stubborn as he's always been, so he continues jabbing me in the side and chanting my name like some kind of mantra.

"Please _desist_," I command irritably, flopping onto my back so I can scowl at him properly.

"The dragons are hatching," he says. "I thought you might want to see."

Ten minutes later, I'm still pulling my shirt over my bed-tossled hair on our way to the underground furnace he'd shown me when I'd first arrived. We walk in silence but when we take the first step down into the room with the fireplace at the far end, and I see the eggs beginning to fracture and crack, I catch my breath. A handful of dragon keepers are already there, Angelina and Lee among them, and Harry and I go to stand next to them.

My shirt's already sticking to my skin, but at least the heat is too suffocating for me to entertain any notions of sleeping anymore.

Charlie passes by us with an almost reverent murmur that kind of makes me want to laugh. "It won't be long now," he tells us, as though we weren't already aware. It seems stating the obvious is not a trait reserved for Harry alone. I wonder if he somehow managed to catch it from the Weasley clan.

We stand in relative silence broken only by the occasional gasp or murmur as the eggs continue to fracture with the force of the dragons' efforts to be free from their tiny prisons. I glance at Harry, and he seems to be entranced with the process. The air crackles with the sound of the hard shells splitting and breaking. I have to admit, I can't pull my eyes away from them either.

This is what the Dragon Keepers work so hard for. They work all day to make sure that these tiny, destructive, and frankly misunderstood creatures have a place that is safe in a world that is anything but. The fact that they've put all this effort into hatching these eggs and integrating the orphaned dragons back into their herds proves that they don't want to leave a single one behind. It's an honorable purpose, I suppose, but I've long since given up on the idea that absolutely everyone can be saved. In any fight for survival, there will always be some causalities. But worse than that, there will be some people who end up too broken to be considered any better off than the dead.

Even so… against my better judgment… I want them all to make it.

When the first egg cracks open, and a Hungarian Horntail steps out with its eyes ablaze and its wings spread, Harry reaches for my hand. And I let him.

Angelina shoots me a knowing glance and I flip one finger at her with my free hand. She laughs.

I glance at Harry and realize that there is the beginning of a small smile tugging at his lips. I realize that he _has_ opened up to me since I arrived, even though I gave him no reason to. That closed off man that showed me around the reserve that first day isn't here anymore. In its place is _this_ man who is so interesting, and so kind, and so _good_… and it was _me_ who brought him back. The boy who made all the wrong choices can make Harry Potter smile, and his smile is that boy's redemption. I have no choice but to finally accept the fact that I've started to hope again.

It's terrifying.

xxx

The next week passes too quickly, with Harry and I skirting around each other like two goldfish in a bowl. We can't help but be aware of each other, and I can feel him looking at me when he thinks I'm not paying attention. I've no time to mull over it, thank God, because Maya's getting ready to integrate back into her herd, and I've been instructed to help her do it. To say I'm not qualified is an understatement, but Charlie's insistent that she trusts me more than anyone else.

For the first time, I have to agree with a Weasley. It's shocking.

She still hiccups flames occasionally, and I'm trying to coach her into stopping via positive reinforcement, aka the oatmeal raisin cookies my mother insists on sending me. She forgets that I loved them when I was five and that one's tastes are prone to change over the years. I'm much more of a double chocolate chip man these days.

The two of us are sunning ourselves inside the paddock on the hill overlooking camp with me leaning against her iridescent scales lazily with my shirt sleeves pushed up and legs sprawled in front of me. We're watching the other dragon keepers toil away below us while we relax and soak in the breeze.

It'd be a shame if no one did.

"What do you think about that one, Maya?" I point at Harry's form directing a medium-sized Welsh Green from one side of the paddock to the other. She snorts airily and shakes her head at me like a horse.

"Yes, well _you're_ not always nice to look at either once you've been working all day." Her shiny, pupil-less eyes regard me in exasperation. "Perfect's ugly anyway. I want to see scars and failure and chaos. Flaws are real." And I want something real to hold onto now, after being lead down a path of lies and broken promises for most of my short life. I want to know what makes him shrink away in fear and what keeps him up in night. I want to know what sick fantasies he has when he thinks he's alone and safe in his own mind. I want the side of him that everyone sees and I want the other side… the darker side that every man has. The one that's disease-riddled and filthy and hidden. I want all of that.

But I can't have any of it.

Maya tosses her head and flings a wing out in front of me as though to prevent me from embarrassing myself any further. "Bitch," I inform her callously and she spits out smoke in my direction just to spite me.

I cough affectedly and cover my face with my arm. And slowly, I drift unexpectedly into the kind of restless sleep that holds you on thin thread between reality and your dreams until the two blend together so seamlessly that you begin to wonder if they've been the same all this time.

xxx

I'm jostled awake by Maya getting to her feet and rushing to impale The Chosen One. It's not a particularly wise decision, in my opinion, and I've made some really fucking bad ones in my lifetime. I know a bad choice like an old friend that these days, I try to avoid whenever possible. Though given that Harry Potter thinks it's acceptable to approach me while I'm sleeping, I think I must have had some brief lapses in judgment during the past few weeks.

The first might have been when I spread my legs for him. Just maybe.

But did I think it was a good decision at the time? Oh God, yes. I am a man after all, and logic can only go so far where my prick is involved. "Maya," I say sleepily. She turns back to me with a small huff and settles back down into the grass again. "Good girl."

Harry eyes her warily. "You've got her trained rather well."

"We like to use your picture as a target."

He snorts. "Ah." He sits down next to me. "Open your hand."

"If this is some kind of trap-"

"Just do it Malfoy." I grin mildly and hold out my palm, watching as he drops something into the center of it. Upon closer inspection, I realize that it's a wooden charm whittled into the shape of a dragon and an Anitpodean Opaleye at that. As it rests in my hand, it breaths out a small puff of bluebell flames and I look at Harry in amazement. "Hermione had to teach me how to do that… via floo no less."

I pull the chain over my head until the charm rests against my chest. Harry's eyes linger on it for a moment. "Suits you." He glances up at me with a look that I can't quite decipher. All I can focus on is the fact that his eyes are green, so green, and that every time he looks at me makes me fall harder for an addiction I'm not sure I'll ever be able to kick.

It's easy to get my fix here, but I'm leaving this weekend. I'm certain the withdrawal is the kind that can kill. "Thank you," I murmur, my voice awkward and painfully formal. He smiles and looks away. _Look at me_, I want to tell him, but I don't, and he doesn't. Instead, we sit in silence for a few moments with both of us too afraid to dare bridging the thin tightrope that holds us together and apart.

I'm still a coward, and I hate myself for it.

"We've been avoiding each other, and I felt bad," he says finally, by way of explanation. "That, and I wanted an excuse to come and talk to you." He grins shrewdly and I roll my eyes skyward.

"We live together. You'd need an excuse _not_ to talk to me, more like."

He shrugs. "True, but I sort of wanted to see if you'd come with me to Sighisoara again."

"Sort of? I'm flattered."

"So will you?"

I sigh and look at him again. "I'm leaving this Sunday, Harry."

He seems utterly unmoved by this declaration, and I'm a bit disappointed, though I don't know what I'd been expecting. It's not as though he'd ask me to stay. "All the more reason. We'll go on Friday."

"It would seem that I'm not left with a choice." He grins and leans over. For one harrowing second, I think he's going to kiss me, but he simply reaches out and touches the dragon charm hanging from my neck.

"It really does suit you," he says before standing and leaving me alone with my thoughts.

xxx

With a crack, we Apparate a safe distance from the church on the hill which is, apparently, where Harry intends to take me. I'd tried to tell him that I'm really not the spiritual sort and that if I tried talking to God, he'd probably spit in my face, forgiveness be damned. Harry had just laughed and pulled me close before spinning on the spot until my world had been reduced to a hopeless swirl of colors and _him_.

I'm still reeling when we land, though he steadies me with a hand at the base of my spine. I ignore it and we begin walking in silence until we reach the bottom of a wide serpentine set of covered stairs that wind their way lazily up the hillside. "Is this necessary?" I turn to Harry with an arched eyebrow. I've never been keen on the idea of physical exercise without some kind of instant gratification for my effort… meaning the most I'm willing to engage in is a good tumble underneath the sheets.

For some reason, I can't imagine he dragged me all the here for _that_.

"It's part of the experience," he tells me firmly before taking the first step. I suppose one of us had to. "I want you to see the city from the top. It's incredible, Draco." His boyish enthusiasm surrounds me and covers me until I can almost imagine that I'm as into this idea as he seems to be. In any case, it _is_ rather endearing.

We make our way up the stairs. I'm taking them one by one with my lips set in a grim line when Harry looks over at me and laughs. "It's can't be all that bad. Look." He nods toward my left, and I glance over to see a most intriguing sight.

Sunlight is pouring through the cracks in the wooden planks, and I realize we must both be soaked in it. Harry looks like a bronze statue, his golden skin aglow and his eyes bright and focused on me.

I know this is how I'll always want to remember him.

And it occurs to me at almost the same time that we're saying goodbye. That's why he's dragged me here. This is my send off.

He shrugs at my silence and waves his hand. "Come on. Not far now." I trail along next to him as I try to comprehend the incredible fragility of the human spirit and the fact that I can feel mine breaking. I can almost convince myself that if I looked down at my skin, I'd see the cracks that prove my frailty… that prove I'm no stronger than any other man living a precarious existence in which each breath is not expected but acknowledged as one more than I deserve.

We emerge from the covered stairs at the top of the hill. The church itself is rather plain with plaster walls and shrunken wooden shingles on its severely slanted roof. The view though…

The view really is incredible.

I take it in and am reminded of the fact that there are some things in the world that can still be beautiful no matter how much ugliness one has seen. It's not a matter of deserving those beautiful things either. It's simply a matter of acknowledging the fact that you are not important enough to alter the layout of the world and the fact that some things are just _bigger_ than you are. The city below and its medieval buildings spider out over the ground beneath us, the sunlight reflects off of the windows making them look like so many broken diamonds, and then…

And then there's Harry.

I look at him with my eyes wide and shining as I begin to understand that walking away from this place, and from him, is going to tear me in half. Love can do that to a person just as easily as horcruxes can.

"Draco…" he murmurs, as though he can read my thoughts, and for a moment, I think that maybe he _can_. He _is _Harry fucking Potter, who can defeat Dark Lords, and save the world, and walk through fire, and just… just be the most amazing, interesting human being that I have ever met.

I turn away. "It's nice enough, I suppose." I feel his fingertips graze the crook of my elbow and his footsteps backing away.

"Come on. There's more."

I follow him into the church itself which seems so old, it's a miracle in itself that it hasn't been washed away by the destructive current of time itself. The walls are covered with 500-year-old frescoes and the altar itself appears to be a Renaissance piece that I know my mother would be in fits over if she were here to see it.

I turn to Harry where we've stopped between the two rows of rickety old pews. A shaft of light filters in through the stained glass windows and dapples the ground at the feet until it seems as though we're both drenched in it. "Why did you bring me here?" I ask abruptly. I have to know.

He studies me carefully for a few moments. "I was hoping you'd change your mind."

"About?"

He shrugs. "About not trusting me."

"Why?" I'm surprised at the forcefulness of my voice as the thoughts I've been clinging to all day finally come spilling out. The words are ugly and I hate myself for saying them. "So you can rub it in my face when you go back to whatever harlot you have waiting for you back in London? So I can be your dirty little secret that you can sneak into back alleyways and dirty pub rooms for a quick shag?" My voice cracks slightly. "So you can break my heart?"

"I wouldn't," he says, reaching for me. "I swear I wouldn't."

I back away and he blinks as though I've just slapped him. "Then you're delusional. Maybe at first you'd ignore everyone who tells you I'm a mistake… that I'm a horrible human being. Maybe you're strong enough for that. But it'd eat away at you until you started to believe it."

He opens his mouth to speak, but I continue on regardless. "Do yourself a favor and believe it now. God knows I do."

He fixes me with a steady gaze before he speaks in a steady, chillingly calm voice. "Don't punish me for something I haven't even done yet."

"But you will. I'm merely being proactive."

"No. You're _being_ a stubborn fuck. I don't understand you, Draco. There's no rule that says we _can't_ be together. It doesn't defy any laws, and there's nothing written in stone that says we won't make it if we try. But _not_ trying only guarantees that we won't. You're not giving us a _chance_." He looks at me with those honest green eyes and an expression so sincere that I nearly believe him.

But I refuse to.

"Understand this then, Harry. _I don't want you_."

I try to block out the hurt etched across his face.

And like the coward that I am, I flee.


	8. Chapter 8

_Thank you for the reviews!_

xxx

I wander around the city. Onlookers might think it poetic, but truth be told, I haven't the slightest idea how to get back to camp from here. It's getting darker, and the panhandlers are relentless, as though they can smell my family's money on me. Unfortunately, it didn't save us when we most needed it to, and it sure as _hell_ isn't going to save me now.

I've half a mind to go back and try to find Harry… maybe even let him kiss me… maybe I'll even say I'm sorry. It's a nice thought, and it keeps me warm for a moment, but I know that it won't matter if I do. Reality is a breath away, even in our dreams, and he'll soon realize that he's been careless to forget that.

It'd take one hour back in London, hand in hand with me to realize that whatever notions he'd entertained of us being together… whatever hopes he might have had for us… were as intangible as the sunlight he'd shown me spilling through the cracks of the covered bridge. It's beautiful, sure, but it can't last for long.

I hold a fag up to my lips and light it with my Ministry-issued wand. I've not brought along a lighter with me, despite the fact that I should have known at some point during this trip, I'd desperately need a cigarette.

It's just my luck that I'd be spotted holding up what amounts to a stick in a Muggle's mind and creating fire.

"How'd you do that?"

I blink in the voice's general direction – they really do need better streetlights in this antique remnant of a city – and frown. "Pardon me?"

"Magic! He just did magic!" A small crowd is gathering, and regardless of the fact that Malfoy's don't panic, I begin to. They peer closer at my wand, which I hastily shove back into its holster on the inside of my sleeve and back away until my spine hits stone. The very last thing that I need is to be caught breaking the Statute, because that _will _be the straw that breaks the camel's back, as they say, and I will be in Azkaban by the morning. Possibly sooner, if the Ministry can manage to find me a cell on such short notice.

For me, I think they'd make the extra effort.

I can't decide if I'm lucky or just that much more _un_lucky when my Romanian bloke from our first trip into the city pushes through the disturbance I've caused and begins to spew out the local language so rapidly that I'm slightly shocked even the residents can understand him. They give mild bleats of disappointment and begin to disperse without looking back at me. Apparently, not even my extraordinary good looks are enough to make up for the fact that I'm no longer under suspicion of being a wizard.

"You ought to keep that in your pocket, beautiful boy."

I snort and take a long drag off of my cigarette. "I think most men would disagree with you there."

He blinks for a second until a look of understanding dawns on his face, and he laughs. "You are funny."

"Occasionally."

"Where are your friends?" My Romanian – I tell myself I have to stop calling him that – looks at me with concerned dark eyes that I could just fall into and forget all about Harry Potter and his ridiculous hair, and his broad shoulders, and his honest green eyes…

"Somewhere else, presumably glad to be rid of me for the moment." I study him impassively, my grey eyes flat and empty. He looks concerned. It makes me dislike him immensely.

"Ah – then you will come with Lucian?"

I sputter. "Lucian? Your name is Lucian? Oh for fuck's sake…" Any thoughts I might have entertained about sleeping him immediately flee my mind and are replaced with my father's surly gaze staring down at me, saturated with an immense disapproval for my unfortunate habit of preferring men over women.

"You do not like my name…"

"Oh no, it's not- well yes, your name is fairly horrible," I concede. "Look, you're a wizard? I had no idea. That's wonderful. Positively _spiffing_…"

He looks very pleased with himself. "Yes, I-"

I hold up my hand. No one interrupts a Malfoy whilst they are trying to speak. "I've got somewhere I need to be. But you're a wizard, and you can Apparate me there. Yes?"

"Yes…" He looks slightly confused and I wonder if something I've said hasn't translated properly.

"I will reward you with… well, I haven't got anything – I'm just a poor boy with a nasty addiction to cigarettes," _and boys with messy black hair and green eyes, _I think silently, and I'm not sure which of those addictions is really the worst one, "but my friend does, and he will reward you handsomely, I assure you."

If I thought he looked confused before, he now looks thoroughly perplexed. "Ah – okay."

"Good." I grab his arm. "The Dragon Reserve. Let's go."

Harry won't mind.

Much.

xxx

I drag Lucian into Harry and I's tent, and a look of understand crosses his tanned face. I notice, for the first time, that he has the kind of cheekbones that make girls swoon and the kind of dark shaggy hair that I've always had a small weakness for. "Oh, I understand…" His hand reaches up to cup my jaw and tilt my chin up, and before I can say something suitably scathing, he kisses me.

I'm too caught off guard to pull away immediately, and of course, being the stumbling dolt that he is, Potter chooses that moment to make an appearance.

I take a few steps backward, my face cool and defiant, though I'm inwardly horrified. _Oh God, I'm sorry, this isn't what it looks like… oh God, oh God, oh God…_ Of course, I say nothing and let him come to his own conclusions.

"This is your friend?" Lucian asks, clearly oblivious.

"Of a sort. Harry, be a dear and give him a tip. He was kind enough to see to it that I got home safely."

"Oh, I think you've made it up to him."

I consider this for a moment. "Too right. Lucian, thank you. You may go."

The Romanian shrugs, apparently having determined that I'm far too much trouble, and honestly, who could disagree with him? "Good night, beautiful boy." He leans in to kiss my cheek and a look of severe annoyance crosses Harry's face behind him.

Once Lucian leaves, Harry and I are left standing across from each other. Truthfully, I'm a bit frightened. He looks rather murderous.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me, Malfoy."

I shrug.

"You prefer _him_? When I was ready to give you the world?" A dull ache rises up in my chest and I wince. "I want you, Draco. I want you so damn much, and you… you just throw other men in my face like it's _nothing_…" The look of hurt on his face is too much, and I close the distance between us.

"He even _looks _like me," he adds in a small, defeated voice.

I wrinkle my nose. "He didn't. He- okay, well yes. I suppose he sort of did. Purely a coincidence, I assure you." I let my hands rest on his hips and a wave of desire rolls over me, catching me off guard and threatening to consume me entirely. "I want you, Harry. How can you be so stupid to believe anything else? How could you let me convince you that I didn't? Idiot."

He gives me a sheepish smile and I touch his cheek gently. "Harry…" I lean in and brush my lips against his. _Just this time… just one last time_, I think to myself. _I need this_. I can't leave without feeling him again, without feeling his touch again, without tasting him again. I just can't.

"Beautiful boy," he says teasingly and I slap his shoulder.

"Shut up," I instruct sternly before pushing him back onto his bed so I can straddle his hips and kiss him before he makes the mistake of saying anything else.

"Why?"

"So you can't say anything that reminds me of why this is a bad idea."

"It's not-"

I kiss him harder. I want to bruise his lips and leave him with something to remind him of me in the morning. He groans and his calloused hands grab my hips, dragging them against his and creating the kind of friction between us that feels positively wicked and filthy and _oh god_ I want more of it. Of him.

My hands reach up to deftly pull his shirt over his head, our kiss only breaking briefly to allow me the space and time to do it, and then my mouth is on his again, as if he's the only thing I need to keep breathing. It occurs to me that without him, once he's gone, I may well drown. But I can't think about that right now.

My teeth rake down his throat and he moans my name, his hips still grinding against mine. I don't even think he realizes he's doing it – he's that far gone already. "Harry," I say. "Lube." He summons it from somewhere above his head and hands it to me, his eyes unfocused and half-lidded. He looks utterly debauched like this, and I love it. Love it.

Love _him_.

I pull off my shirt and watch, pleased, as his eyes roam hungrily over my chest before removing my trousers and pants as well. He moans, as if the mere sight of me is enough to bring him to the edge. God, the fact that it's Harry Potter and it's _me_ who can reduce him to this desperate state…

I know right now, he would do _anything_… anything at all for me, and the power it gives me is intoxicating, regardless of who exactly is fucking who.

After I've slicked up my fingers, I reach behind me and, with my eyes focused on his, slide one, then two inside of me with a low groan. "Fuck, Draco," he says. His cock lays heavily on his stomach and his balls are already drawn up tight against his body.

Regardless of any incoherent babble he has to say at the moment, I know that's not what this is. We're _not_ just fucking. I know what that's like, and I know it well. This is him trying to reassure me. This is him trying to make me believe things that aren't true.

And this is me saying goodbye.

I hold the base of his cock and slide down it slowly, my eyes clenched shut and my breathing ragged until I've taken all of him. "Harry…" I murmur. His hands run over my sides soothingly and I begin to move.

"Oh god…" His head falls back, though his eyes never leave mine.

We move together, our bodies melded together as though they were _supposed_ to be like this. Sex has never felt like this for me. Sex had always been used to make me feel powerless, but right now, with Harry, I feel _empowered_. My hand drops down to my own leaking cock and I smear my own precome over its length. It feels bloody _fantastic_, and I know I'm not going to be able to make this last, no matter how much I might want to.

"I'm going to come…" I murmur dizzily. I'm certain I look just as far gone as Harry does at this point.

I don't mind.

"Come for me, Draco," he whispers, and I do, as though my body is reacting to his words and his words alone.

And then he reaches for my fingers and smears my own come all over them before bringing them to his lips. His takes them into his mouth hungrily, his eyes still on mine as his tongue laps up my come. Then, he squeezes his eyes shut and with a small shout, shudders as he climaxes. "No," I say desperately. "No, look at me." His eyes fly open with some effort, and I drink in the sight of him lying there underneath me with a look of utter bliss on his face as I think to myself, _I did this. I made him feel like this._

I collapse on top of him, and he pulls me in close, his lips brushing against my forehead. "Harry…" I gasp.

"Don't leave," he commands. "Stay with me."

I sigh, my breath ghosting over his skin. "Okay."

After lying so many times, you can convince even yourself that you're telling the truth.

xxx

I roll out of bed before dawn and throw my belongings in a rucksack without pausing to check if it's mine or Harry's. I've no portkey and no way of apparating, side-along or otherwise and thus have a long trek ahead of me. The train leaves at nine o'clock, which means I have approximately four hours to get to town. I frown at the thought. Then I remember that I'm leaving for good, which means I probably won't be seeing the bespectacled git I've been bunking with for quite some time after this and suddenly, physical exertion seems like nothing in comparison.

I heft the rucksack higher on my shoulder and frown as Harry stirs. The sorry sod is such a heavy sleeper that he hadn't even stirred when I'd crawled over him to get out of his bed, so I'm fairly comfortable in the knowledge that he won't wake up know. Still, I sort of wish that he would.

Instead, he simply rolls back over and begins to snore softly. That's one good reason for why we could never work out.

I can't sleep with someone who snores like he does.

I pull the tent flap back and turn to look at his sleeping form. Had someone told me that I'd be here now, feeling these things for Harry Potter, I'd have laughed at them. Against all odds though, I do feel them and I know I will for quite some time, regardless of the distance I'm about to put between us.

"I think I love you," I say softly. "And I'm so sorry."

I leave and begin my walk to train that will take me away from here.

Away from Harry.


	9. Chapter 9

_Thank you for the reviews! I had a lot of fun writing this and I hope you enjoyed reading it! :)_

xxx

_So this is it_, I think to myself bitterly as I sit on a rickety old bench next to the tracks in the station. I've left the only good thing in my life behind and I'll never see him again. I guess, in a way, it's sort of a relief that he'll never get the chance to leave me behind, as I've already done all the leaving for him. He ought to be glad that I've saved him the trouble, though I know that he won't be once he realizes that I'm gone. Not at first anyway.

Eventually though, he'll realize that it was all for the best.

Now, I have to go home to my mother and to Pansy, the latter of which I might marry and make the woman of the house. Fucking her would be something of a chore, and I'm not sure if I could manage it, but at least she'd be good companionship. Maybe she might even make me forget about Harry once in a while.

I wonder how long it'll take before I stop thinking about him every second, like some heartbroken broad whose lover disappeared in the middle of the night without a trace. I'm ashamed of myself for ending my stay in Romania in such a cowardly way, but I suppose it's fitting that I leave the reserve the same way I arrived. I came to Romania to save myself, too selfish to think about the effects it might have on anyone else, and now, I've leaving for the same reason.

In any case, I'm certain he'll forget about me before I forget about him.

"A pretty boy like you shouldn't be traveling alone."

I freeze and turn to find the source of the voice, even though I know exactly who it belongs to before I do.

He looks tired, and I wonder when he woke up to realize that I'd gone. I wonder what he'd done when he had.

"You shouldn't have followed me," I inform him staunchly, my grey eyes peering up at him. I realize belatedly that I probably look just as frightful as he does, if not worse.

I never thought I'd believe it, but I suppose there _are_ some instances in which appearances cease to matter. "What else could I do?" he asks, his voice strained and his eyes pleading. I realize this is exactly what I'd hoped to avoid as my heart strains against my ribs and my fingers clench in an effort to stop themselves from reaching out to him.

"How many times do I have to watch you walk away from me, Draco?"

"Until you get the hint," I reply callously, my stomach clenching in knots. He crouches down in front of me on the dirty ground and looks up at me with bright green eyes, his hands resting gently on my knees.

"If I thought that was what you really wanted, then I'd leave you alone. All you have to do is look me in the eye and tell me that you don't want me." I'd told him otherwise just hours before now, but he's Harry Potter and just gullible enough to believe me if I told him I never wanted to see his face again.

But I can't.

My fingers brush aside his messy fringe and trace over his famous lightning bolt scar while his reach up to toy with the dragon charm he'd made.

And for a moment, I let myself believe that heroes can fall in love with a boy like me.

I drop my hand back down to my lap and stare down at it. Only then do I realize that it's shaking. The sound of the train's whistle jerks my gaze back up and I watch the black engine pull into the station with a sinking heart, because this is it. These next five seconds are all that I have left with Harry, and I haven't said even half of what I want to. "Please, Draco. Don't go." He looks at me with earnest eyes, his hand wrapping around my shaking fingers. "Please."

I stand and pull my hand out of his grasp to reach for my ticket in my back pocket. My fingers fumble through the bits of loose paper and Muggle money I find there until they find purchase on the edge of the white piece of cardboard with my destination written plainly on it in stark black ink.

He steps away then, his expression confused and hurt and already, I can see him shutting down again. I'm going to leave him in exactly the state I found him. Alone and closed off from everyone and everything around him.

It makes me wonder which of us needs the other one more.

It's the first time I've let myself think that this isn't just a game to him, that maybe some of this is real. I let myself belief that this isn't just as passing fancy on his part and that I'm not a temporary distraction from his own wretched life. I even let myself think that maybe this is as real to him as it is to me, and that maybe he's not saving me… I'm saving _him_. And damn it if it doesn't feel amazing, even if I'm delusional.

Fuck reality.

I tear my train ticket in half.

He blinks at me, wide-eyed and shocked. "What-"

"A moment of insanity. Nothing more," I assure him dryly. I take a few steps toward him until I'm standing between his feet. "Don't make me regret it, Potter."

He grins and pulls me close, his hands sliding around to the small of my back. "God… I thought I'd really lost you this time."

I peer up at him and see my future in his hopeful face. He looks blissfully happy, as though he's just woken up from a nightmare and realized that it wasn't real after all. Instead, he still has me and I'm not going anywhere. The most surprising thing of all, of course, is that it seems to be exactly what he wants. "This is real, isn't it?" He nods. "But when everyone else finds out…"

"I want them to," he interrupts me cheerfully. "I can't wait."

"And you'll have to be there when I tell my mother. I'm not sure which is more frightening."

"I'm great with parents," he insists happily.

"Idiot," I say, but I'm smiling. As the train whistles and begins to pull away from the station, I slide my fingers along his jaw and kiss him gently. It's not the first time, but it is different than the others.

Because this time, I'm staying. This is my choice.

My future.

My reality.


End file.
